


Transformers: A New Dawn

by CatMeisterCoal



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, Body Horror, Depictions of explosions, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mutual Pining, Severe reactions to trauma, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Torture, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, War, explicit descriptions of bodily harm, robot gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2019-10-08 06:25:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 114,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17381339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatMeisterCoal/pseuds/CatMeisterCoal
Summary: The war between the Decepticons and Autobots has come to a head. It's up to Megatron and Optimus to pacify their people or face ruin. Little do they know what other trouble is brewing over the horizon that will put them and their morals to the test.





	1. Command

**Author's Note:**

> The tags are a bit subject to change as the story goes on. For example I may add torture. Most of the tags aren't fulfilled until future chapters.

For millions of years the Autobots and Decepticons have been at odds, fighting over the finite supply of energon throughout the universe. Now, the two armies collide in the Milky Way, a galaxy that has been found to be rich with the precious fuel that feeds their armies. Autobots have made allies with the humans that inhabit the planet, Earth in their fight against the Decepticons that mean to conquer all transformer kind under the rule of Lord Megatron. Standing against the formidable warlord is none other than Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots. With the war having gone on so long, many Autobots are losing the resolve to fight a war built on the values that all Transformers should be able to live equally. Now, it becomes more and more clear that their once noble cause has been tainted to the point where the battle between Autobot and Decepticon is just a massive terf war with either side hoping to outlast the other. Among the numerous Decepticons, many soldiers have broken off to find work as mercenaries and a few officers of Megatron’s elite have taken up their troops to carve out chunks of the universe for themselves. Despite the building odds, the Decepticons remain an unconquerable force and thus, the war continues.

The sun beat down over the golden sands of the Sahara as smoke arises from the scorched corpses of fallen transformers surrounded by blackened sand as the battle wages on around the fallen. Battered and scuffed, arising from the dunes is the rosy figure of Elita-1 who tosses the corpse of a Decepticon grunt to the side as though it were common trash as more forces swarm in on her position. Heavy fists rise to meet her only to be deflected with a grace that can only come from centuries upon centuries of training and battle. As she frees the head of a Decepticon from their shoulders a plasma blast hits her back knocking her off balance to kneel on the large dune as the screech of jet engines blast above her. From her left Bumblebee in car mode drives up a steep dune then transforms in midair to land on the jet making it spiral out of control so, in defense, the Decepticon changes and grips Bumblebee as to slam him into the sands below. Bumblebee, with a quick twist at just the last second, manages to twist his foe beneath him causing them to take the full force of the impact as they crash, tangled together. Elita tears a path through her surrounding foes to get to Bumblebee, dragging him from the burning sand and wreckage of his opponent then looks him over thankfully finding minimal damage. She scans the surrounding area in the brief respite from the oncoming onslaught catching sight of Ultra Magnus and Grimlock locked in combat that’s all too close to see who will be the victor then she sees who she’s looking for.

Optimus Prime pummels his way through the defenses, just two hundred meters out making his way to the surrounded Autobot forces in hopes of relieving his soldiers. Close behind him is Ratchet and several other Autobots that are quickly spread out through the battlefield in their attempt to jackknife themselves into the fray. Ratchet takes a now unconscious Bumblebee from Elita before rushing back into friendly territory giving her the freedom to move onto their valiant leader’s position. Despite their best efforts, she and Optimus wind up surrounded by Decepticon grunts all out to be the one to fall the leader of the Autobots and his Second in Command. In the distance amidst the carnage, Elita spots Arcee soaked in energon cutting down one of Grimlock’s massive cronies but as the giant Spinosaurus-like mech falls she watches as her comrade stumbles, clearly exhausted as the rest of their troops surely are.

“There are too many of them,” Elita shouts over the tin of battle to Optimus, “we’re going to have to retreat.”

Optimus blasts away another truck barreling towards them and shouts back, “I could draw them away which will leave you and the others an opening-”

“That’s suicide!” Elita-1 cuts him off and dodges more gun fire.

“Well then what do you suggest?!” Optimus bites out as he hauls another Decepticon at the unrelenting barrage.

“I- ,” Elita begins but then pauses as she spots none other than Megatron clearly trying to work his own path towards Prime and in that moment she makes a decision, “Whirl! We need cover fire!”

“What are you doing?” Optimus can only look on as her command makes it over the comms and Whirl, the helicopter comes barreling in, shooting at the hoard around them.

“I’m ending this!”

In the moment of distraction, Elita-1 makes her move across the battlefield to the Decepticon leader, crushing enemies as she goes until she is within reach of the warlord at which point she takes advantage of his distracted state to tackle him. They fall in a mess of limbs and angry shouts as they wrestle to seek purchase over the other. Elita keeps them locked in close combat knowing that Megatron wouldn’t dare risk firing his canon at such short range nor would any of his soldiers shoot at her or fear risking the life of their glorious leader. She takes a blow to the face but recovers quickly and jabs at exposed wiring and weakened armor along his chassis he had received from fights earlier on in the battle. They get up, sand raining down from their armor, but remain in tight combat. Megatron roars in agony before delivering a devastating kick to her weakened supports in her legs from having to fight so long making her fall to the ground once more on her knees. When he moves to strike another blow she is quick to knock his feet from under him making him collapse as he was unprepared for the blowing having forgotten her great innate strength. They haul themselves up just in time for Optimus to come rushing in to strike a blow against Megatron, knocking him off kilter. Elita takes the opportunity to punch Megatron’s head but he blocks it the sudden arrival of Optimus having phased him very little. Between the punishment of her and Optimus’s assault, he begins to visibly falter as his blows become sluggish and his vents become ragged as his systems noticeably begin to overheat from the exertion. In a last ditch effort to gain the advantage, he manages to maneuver Optimus and Elita from his person with a powerful dual toss giving him space from them allowing him to move more easily. Their fight becomes still as comms begin to buzz in from both sides.

“Elita!” a wave of relief comes over her as she hears none other than Bumblebee call in, “They’re breaking through our main defenses! If they get through, none of us will make it. We need you!”

“Go!” Optimus orders without taking his eyes off Megatron.

Elita hesitates for a moment looking between her general and Megatron before running through the chaos to aid her allies hearing more than seeing Optimus attack Megatron as he tries to catch her off-guard as she retreats. She makes it to the temporary shelters they had set up to find the Decepticons have made it into their makeshift base and are dueling it out with what is essentially all of Autobot high command except the Prime and herself. Scorponok in his scorpion alt-mode has Ultra Magnus pinned, preventing him from aiding the others and Blackarachnia has set upon Arcee making her too distracted to dole out commands. The Autobots are in complete disarray and as Elita tries to aid Arcee but is blocked by the battling forces in the tight quarters of the base. Grimlock suddenly charges in in his t-rex alt-mode and aims directly at her. With his speed, he nearly forces her back but she manages to hold her ground if barely, holding onto his jaws in a vice-like grip as he tries to thrash himself free and make a meal of her. She hears Ultra Magnus cry out in pain and Ratchet shout for aid to assist him with their fallen CO. Anger coursing through her lines, she plants her foot into Grimlocks gaping maw to force him down to the thick sands and with both hands forces up on his upper jaw making the metal groan and whine in protest. A twanging snap cracks through the air and Grimlock howls in pain as he falls limp to the ground, too injured and in pain to move.

Without any hesitation, Elita makes her way to aid Arcee against the formidable ‘con to find her struggling against Blackarachnia’s legs forcing her down. With a quick motion, Blackarachnia throws Arcee into a cement barrier causing it to crack heavily from the force of the blow and Arcee falls limp to the ground. Before she can finish the job, Elita is able to get a hold on her and forces her down and knocks her unconscious before she can kill the ‘con calls from her allies grab her attention. They are still being overrun with more enemies on their way and squads deep in the field, if they didn’t leave soon all would be lost. With an icy calm settling over her, she comms Optimus Prime.

“Optimus! Arcee and Ultra Magnus are down! We can’t win this,” she vents in and looks over her fallen comrades, “We have to go.”

“Understood,” Optimus manages to growl out as he pushes against Megatron who’s trying to force him down, “Gather the others, leave the Sahara completely and head back to base.”

Optimus twists them around so as to shift Megatron’s weight off of him thus freeing himself from his hold. He tries to punch the warlord in his weak side but misses as he dodges and in turn dodges a strike aimed for his helm. They go on like that for a few moments, movements becoming heavy, sluggish, and sloppier as they go on and the toll of battle eats at them. A pause comes over them during which they glare bitterly at one another as their vents and fans desperately try to cool their overheating systems to no avail. Either one of them would win or they would both fall due to exhaustion.

A comm comes in for Megatron from Starscream, “Lord Megatron, we can’t take much more of this! We managed to break their defence but we can’t hold it. We need to retreat!”

“Pullback,” Megtron orders as he falls to one knee on the dune, “full retreat.”

Optimus stumbles and ends up mirroring Megatron’s posture, unable to muster the energy to continue their quarrel as the fight was knocked out of him at hearing Megatron’s order to his troops. They stay like that as the forces begin to pull from each other like a cell going through mitosis until two distinct side become clear. As ships flee the battlefield comms and demands flood the two generals’ huds as they stare at one another, resting on the sands. Megatron is the first to turn off his hud as the constant flow of information was beginning to give him a migraine and Optimus follows suit effectively cutting them both off from all outside influence.  
“Perhaps…” Optimus’ voice comes out slow and static ridden before trailing off in open suggestion.

“I can no longer win this war,” Megatron spits out as though the words themselves taste foul, “and neither can you.”

“Agreed,” Optimus nods and falls to both knees, “Might I be so bold to suggest that we might finally decide upon peace then?”

“To do otherwise,” Megatron pauses to vent in carefully and rest both arms on his propped up knee, “would be to condemn our species to death. Whether it be through war or the slow, methodical extermination by the enemies we have both made... If we do not commit to peace now then our war shall be eternal.”

“I am so glad you think that,” Optimus sighs as he doesn’t even try to hide his immense relief, “I am so tired of war.”

“Hear me, Prime. The errors I have made to force my hand towards peace with the likes of you is more infuriating than accepting this defeat,” Megatron growls out.

“You still feel as though you lost?”

“A battle from which you only pull away corpses is always a defeat.”

“A battle from which you pull away with the hope for peace is a new beginning,” Optimus retaliates and Megatron huffs out a dry laugh.

“There will be resistance.”

“Perhaps,” Optimus chuckles, exhaustion getting to him, “but you are a strategic mastermind. So, surely you can calculate that the payoff outweighs the cost by a tremendous amount.”

“I will not bow to you, Prime,” Megatron says with all the venom he can muster.

“Then don’t. Together, we may yet be able to unite our people once more.”

Megatron drags himself up from the burning sand and turns to trudge towards his awaiting forces, injured and slow but steady.  
“I will contact you soon,” he says over his shoulder not skipping a beat.

“I look forward to hearing from you,” Optimus replies as he pulls himself up and watches as Megatron leaves.

His eyes scan the once clear and peaceful Sahara now strewn with the corpses of those that died in yet another of their battles in this war of theirs, a vicious reminder that they are hurting much more than themselves in this conflict. Optimus sighs and reopens his comms to request a transport back to base.

At the base in one of the many shambled together rooms large enough to hold them all at once is used as a kind of war room complete with a long table that Optimus now sits at the end of. His discarded battlemask rests at his right elbow as he leans his face against his intertwined hands in an attempt to get some kind of rest knowing very well he’s too tired for this meeting. Ultra Magnus stands at attention to his right clearly exhausted but alive which Optimus is more than grateful for. He awaits for his and his other officer’s judgement as he had just relayed that Megatron had agreed to begin talks of peace to them. The shock on their faces almost made him doubt his decision but the memory of the fallen still fresh in his mind hardens his resolve. He’s startled into focus as Prowl’s hands slam the table and proceed to wipe it clear of datapads and styluses.

“There can be no peace with Megatron!” Prowl shouts at Optimus, his white frame is still covered in tan dust from the desert and bears the scars of laser fire.

“Do you say that because you believe peace cannot be achieved,” Optimus adjusts himself so he’s sitting straighter and giving Prowl his full attention, “or is it that you simply don’t want peace with Megatron.”

“So long as Megatron is alive so too is the Decepticon Agenda!”

“Surely,” Bumblebee interjects gently, “by now you realize that the ‘Decepticon Agenda’ and our own are not so starkly opposite as you imply them to be.”

“In the past four million years,” Arcee, just as worn as the rest of them, sighs and goes on, “In the past four million years those among the Decepticon ranks who genuinely want equality between Cybertronians are those that remain within its ranks now. Those that were in this war only for power’s sake have parted ways with Megatron’s army. A million years ago if you asked me if we could end this war just by talking I would have laughed in your face. But now? I think it’s possible. An important question we have to ask ourselves is what would we do if we don’t try for peace or if attempts for peace wind up falling through.”

“Thank you, Arcee,” Optimus nods courteously to her, happy to have at least one of his officers seriously considering the possibility, “So, what would we do? Do we continue fighting until the last drop of energon is used up? Do we fight until all of our sparks give out? Or, do we give the Autobots and Decepticons a chance to be one people again and work towards a future we can all find happiness in?”

“It would be havoc,” Prowl argues and Optimus pinches the bridge of his nose, “We might achieve peace for a little while but it’s doomed to fall apart. The Decepticons no longer know peace!”

“Neither do the Autobots,” Elita-1 grumbles which silences the room.

Prowl sits down and stares at his battered, black hands, considering her words. Ultra Magnus shifts his shoulders and makes a small, polite noise to bring the room’s attention to him.

“Megatron said he would contact you?” Ultra Magnus addresses Optimus, “Perhaps, then, we should prepare what we will say, what we require for there to be peace. That, instead of going around in circles debating if it is even possible. What matters is that the wheels are already turning and we cannot be found unprepared… for any reason.”

Optimus considers his friends words carefully as he looks down at his battle-mask, thinking of what they should do in the case of peace.

“Optimus,” Elita brings his attention to her, “you’ll have to demand to rule equally with Megatron.”

“Rule?” Optimus clenches his hands on the deck in surprise but doesn’t hear any objections from his officers.

“The Autobots will follow you,” Elita continues trying her hardest to get Optimus to understand, “Megatron will want complete control but you cannot let yourself be subservient to him. We can trust you to temper his anger towards what he feels were injustices to his people.”

“They were injustices, Elita,” Optimus slumps back in his chair, “The people of Cybertron were restricted by their alt-modes and those considered of being of lower castes were treated brutally. What you are suggesting is that we sacrifice having a- a- a diplomatic society, a democracy in favor of this diarchy. We can’t just forget our morals. We may compromise, yes but we can’t just…”

“Megatron won’t accept the same form of government that allowed the lower castes of the time to reign over Cybertron again,” Arcee adds in support of Elita-1 albeit bitterly.

“I am not comfortable with having dominion over Cybertron,” Optimus shakes his head, “this is not what I fought for.”

“It will come down to this, Optimus,” Prowl grumbles then vents out quickly before saying, “As much as I hate to admit it but this is one thing we will not be able to compromise very far with Megatron let alone any other Decepticon. Democracy failed them and they trust Megatron to assure they won’t have to live like that again. If you really want peace then you have to allow Megatron power, a position over the people. Nothing less will do. Just like us, he’s fought far too long to give this up now. That’s why you have to insist on being equal to him. We trust you, Optimus, so, be our king.”

“You’ve led us this far, Optimus,” Arcee tightens her hands on the table not breaking eye contact with him, “Not much would change in that sense. The Autobots are more loyal to you than they are to the Autobot brand. It’s you who’s gotten us this far. It’s the same with the Decepticons and Megatron. If you two can work together then peace will be possible.”

“Our collective forces will have to be mixed,” Bumblebee mentions as he leans on the table, “Shuffle around officers and reassign troops. If we don’t do that there will be a clear Autobot side and Decepticon side.”

“Even with both of you in command,” Ultra Magnus pipes up and steps forward to address them all, “you cannot be allowed to rule autonomously. A council of Autobots and Decepticons should be formed. Those that can be trusted with reform and are familiar with the wants and needs of the common people should be chosen. You have to make it clear, as well, that we will not accept a militaristic government.”

All the officers begin to throw out ideas and concerns as well as what the most important things are that they should keep in mind and negotiate what they are willing to give up for this suddenly very possible peace. Optimus sits and listens quietly as they argue and debate feeling a heavy weight on his shoulder that makes him feel disinclined to participate. He stands up which silences the room and turns to Ultra Magnus.

“Please take down everyone’s concerns, Ultra Magnus,” Optimus orders softly, “highlight the ones that are considered of utmost importance. I will review them later. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Optimus walks through the metallic halls of the Autobot base and bots salute him as he goes and he eventually passes the repair bay where several soldiers are being repaired, some showing far heavier damage than others. Autobot soldiers are seen resting against each other in an open room while others in the room are consoling each other over their lost comrades. Optimus looks upon them with a deep sadness that sinks cold and sharp in his spark then continues on his path up steps that open to other floors but he just keeps on going up and up. His footsteps land heavily on each step with a dull, hollow sound. The stairs feel infinite, spiralling dizzyingly downward and reaching a treacherous height. The whole Autobot base feels cobbled together with its dramatic changes in materials and sometimes the dramatic shift in sizes of the halls. This staircase is a marker of just how long they’ve been on Earth, fighting and building up their base ever higher here. Eventually, Optimus reaches the top and opens the door to reveal a bright blue sky with puffy, white clouds, which looks for all the world like a bright and beautiful day that would normally resound with a general feeling of tranquility. He walks towards the edge of the massive base to look over the snowy expanse of the mountains they have taken up residence in. There is a bench there that was made by Optimus himself that he sits on now as he has many times in these past few years to think on his actions and the future of his people. He watches as the clouds float lazily by, mind abuzz with “what if”s and wishes desperately for answers. A much smaller mech’s hand rests on his shoulder and he looks up to see a familiar, kind face though he’s never seen him before he knows exactly who it is.

The small, slim, orange mech sits next to him on the bench and proceeds to clean his glasses. He doesn’t say anything, waiting patiently for Optimus to gather his thoughts before they begin a much awaited conversation, one that Optimus has wanted for as long as the matrix has been within him. Everything he had ever wanted to ask before seems trivial now, however and he can’t bring himself to bring up any of it. Instead, he can only think of what lies ahead of him now.

“I thought I might find you here,” the small mech jokes and laughs warmly.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Optimus admits meekly, feeling just a thousand-years-old again suddenly, “Can I really lead as some kind of monarch? This feels like it’s all happening so fast, too fast. It feels off.”

“Off?” the mech returns his glasses to his face, “Off how?”

“It feels... too easy.”

“‘Too easy’...” the mech hums then pats Optimus on the arm, “Everyone is so tired. Isn’t it time for something to be easy?”

“Would we really be happy with that?” Optimus puts his face in his hands, “To have struggled for so long only for all the answers to be handed to us making it all look… worthless.”

“This is isn’t the victory you’ve been looking for,” the mech nods in understanding.

“But it is,” Optimus growls in frustration, “All I have been hoping for has been an end to the war.”

“By any means necessary?”

“No!” Optimus yelps in surprise at the mech’s words, “I wouldn’t discard planets or live carelessly but I…”

“You don’t know if you can give this up in order for peace.”

“I… will do anything for my people.”

“This all tells me that you still have hope, Optimus,” the mech smiles up at him with a hint of pride, “Good, good. Even after all you’ve been through you still have hope for the future. That is what you will need to show those who follow you now and those that are yet to. Megatron is a force of unwavering determination but you, you are hope.”

“Tell me what I should do,” Optimus whispers desperately.

“Follow your heart,” the mech says then kisses Optimus’ forehead and just like that he’s gone.


	2. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one is happy that Starscream's joined the party

Megatron stands resolutely at the edge of the observation deck looking through the large windows of the airship that reveal the scene of billowing clouds roaming over a bright blue sky above the vast expanse of tundra far below. The platform he stands on rises over the lower deck, free of any other observers and the walls and structures of the airship are all made of steel that look cold to the touch. He leans heavily on the railing, free from his major injuries now but the scars of the recent battle and the many battles before it are still visible upon the metal of his frame. His shoulders sag with and invisible weight and his eyes glow a dim, dark red as he stares unseeing out the windows. Starscream stands just a few feet from him and though he isn’t looking at his second-in-command he can vividly see the well worn mask of impudent fury that he seems to constantly hold in Megatron’s presence.

“This is an insult to every Decepticon who has lost their life in service to you!” Starscream’s harsh voice reaches him, low and cold with a calm that is uncharacteristic for the seeker, “How can you just throw away millions of years of effort on a whim? Does the Decepticon cause no longer resonate as strongly as it once did?”

Megatron sighs and straightens up, mentally collecting himself before he turns to address Starscream far too used to their near constant squabbles the words, controlled and practiced in his mind taste dry and bitter on his tongue.

“You’ve seen the carnage, Starscream,” Megatron gestures widely in one slow, powerful stroke of his arm, “You’ve seen defeat after defeat alongside me and by now you must have come to the same conclusion as I have: there is no victory for the Decepticons. We have driven ourselves into a standstill with the Autobots. Our options are either to drive ourselves until not a single Decepticon remains standing or to make peace with the Autobots so we may yet have a chance for a future at all.”

“Is our hope for the future no longer worth dying for?” Starscream curls his hands into fists as his usual venom seems dulled, “Have you come to fear death, Megatronus?”

Megatron flinches at the usage of the name he used in the gladiatorial pits of Cybertron but Starscream doesn’t sneer with the usual satisfaction he’d feel at seeing his Lord show even a second of weakness. Only then does Megatron see the wear upon the seeker’s own frame and the self-inflicted scratches that have been mostly buffed away now and remembers the rare fear he had seen in his second’s eyes when Thundercracker had returned on the brink of death. The lord of the Decepticons places a hand on Starscream’s shoulder, a rare show of solidarity and the seeker goes almost lax beneath the touch.

“I don’t want a galaxy littered with the corpses of our brethren,” Megatron speaks softly but intently, “We spill the energon of Autobots for just a few liters of it for ourselves. In these past few centuries there has only been those with energon and those without, forget any noble cause. Our soldiers are tired and starving. This war hasn’t been about Autobots versus Decepticons for some time. With this newly forming alliance we may yet have some of the future we crave instead of having none of it, with this alliance we can return to Cybertron.”

“Yes… Lord Megatron,” Starscream gently pushes the hand to the side and faces him with an indiscernible look.

“Send a message to the Autobots,” Megatron commands as he leaves, “I am ready to speak with Optimus Prime.”

Later on the main deck, Megatron stands in front of the captain’s chair with Starscream to his right and he watches as Grimlock walks on to the deck looking as though he hadn’t been injured at all. A brief wave of envy washes over him at the sight of Grimlock but he dismisses it as being a part of his youth for Megatron had once only been a million as well. The dark screen of the command center looms before them, taking up the entire wall and his troops work diligently beneath it. With a roll of his shoulders he steadies himself and nods to the communications clerk to open the channel. Immediately, they’re greeted with the view of Optimus Prime but the footage quickly receads to reveal those with him. Elita-1 stands at attention to his right with Ultra Magnus just behind her and Prowl along with Bumblebee have taken seats just below and in front of them tending to the transmission itself: an imposing image. Well, it would be if it weren’t for Rodimus lounging all too casually in the chair to Optimus’s left, looking more bored than anything else almost as if this meeting isn’t worth his time. Megatron suppresses his ire in favor of the matter at hand.

“Thank you for accepting my call, Optimus Prime,” Megatron nods his head in acknowledgement, “I hope we may officially declare a truce between Decepticons and Autobots.”

Starscream shifts minutely beside him but says nothing. Megatron praises the seeker for his control to himself and hopes that perhaps his words have had an affect on him for once.

“That is acceptable,” Optimus replies as his eyes almost imperceptibly glance to his left, “Then, perhaps, we can discuss terms of peace in greater detail in person.”

“Where would you suggest we meet?” Megatron raises a brow in interest at the speed his rival seems to be moving talks along.

“Our allies have permitted us to meet off the coast of Copenhagen.”

“Very well,” Megatron doesn’t comment on how their allies are none other than the humans that have proven themselves to be a nuisance, “We can be there within three hours unless you need more time to prepare.”

“I will be there within that time,” Optimus says and his eyes flash with something Megatron almost wants to label as amusement, “Along with me will be Ultra Magnus and Rodimus.”

“Starscream and Deadlock will be coming with me as well. Until then, Prime,” and with that Megatron closes the call.

Optimus and his officers are left in the quiet after the call with the screen dark once more, an uneasy but hopeful atmosphere settles over them. Arcee walks on to the bridge proper to stand at attention in front of Optimus, undoubtedly having heard the content of the call. Optimus nods to her and she adjusts her posture to be at ease.

“Are you sure it’s wise to take Rodimus with you?” she says, hers eyes flashing briefly to the one in question.

“I can handle a peace talk, Arcee,” Rodimus claims as he gets up quickly to stand properly next to Optimus, meeting her gaze.

“It’s known that if I die, Rodimus can take up the title of Prime. It’s a show to Megatron we are taking this matter seriously,” Optimus rests a hand on Rodimus’s shoulder to ease him and he visibly relaxes his shoulders, “Also, he can’t just learn from lectures alone. It has been proven in the past that he learns better from experience. This will be a good opportunity for him.”  
“If you’re certain,” Arcee concedes hesitantly.

“I am,” Optimus nods and takes his leave, as soon as his back is turned, however, Rodimus flashes Arcee a smug look at which she just rolls her eyes.

Optimus, Ultra Magnus, and Rodimus all stand in the middle of a large command center on an airship surrounded by platforms cluttered with humans scurrying to and fro as they work the ship’s systems. On a narrow walkway that extends into the wide space along which an older vietnamese woman in U.S. military garb that denotes her as a general walks down it, her demeanor cool and dignified as she approaches Optimus Prime. Just behind her is a primly dressed woman who appears to be some kind of government official, her dark hair a bit unruly as though she had been called on extremely short notice. Her lavender suit is stark against the dark blue of the general’s uniform. The general stops at the end of the platform and scans her transformer entourage with a hard look, her dark eyes lingering on Rodimus who is doing his best at appearing well composed but ultimately failing as he keeps fidgeting. Even he doesn’t dare disrespect her as she holds her solid figure regally and the show of her years is only visible from the solid stripe of silver against black hair in her tightly wound bun. Optimus stands at attention to await her concerns.

“Optimus Prime,” the general nods to him then gestures to her guest, “This is Denmark Rep. Dagny Bjornsen. She is here to oversee the proceedings and assure that you conduct yourselves according to the agreement.”

“I’m sure you will do your utmost,” Representative Bjornsen begins before hesitating, “but I am uncertain that your potential -ahem- allies will be as accommodating.”

“You’re certain that Megatron can be trusted to keep this from turning into an all out battle,” the general furrows her brows, “You’re certain that this isn’t some kind of ambush.”

“I am, General Ngo,” Optimus says calmly, his voice rumbling with the beginnings of confidence, “He is as desperate for this chance at peace as I am.”

“I know, I know,” she sighs and her shoulders fall a bit, “The Autobots and Decepticons have been fighting for a very long time… It doesn’t feel real.”

“I understand your feelings completely, General,” Optimus puts up a consoling hand and continues, “If things do get out of hand we will draw away the Decepticons so that -hopefully- none of your soldiers will need to engage.”

“Thank you, Optimus. I wish you the best of luck for the sake of Transformers and Humans alike.”

“We will prevail,” Ultra Magnus does his best to solute her in the space provided that she returns with a light in her eyes.

“Please do try to prevent any fighting,” Rep. Bjornsen cuts in, “Copenhagen is the most populated city in Denmark.”

“Yes, Representative.”

Eventually the ship lands on a man-made island that the Autobots file out onto in the bright light of day. The waters of the expanse of sea around them lap lazily on the large cement structure and the wind blows soft and cool over their frames, a peace that is disturbed only by the take off of the airship leaving them alone to deal with the Decepticons. Megatron bordered by Starscream and Deadlock waits patiently across the way looking tired, more tired than Optimus had ever seen him before in all their years of fighting and a spark of empathy burns within him as he knows all too well the trials of leadership. He can feel Deadlock watch every increment of movement he makes from when he gestures to Ultra Magnus and Rodimus to wait where they are to the moment he meets Megatron in the middle to shake hands, their first peaceful action towards each other. The small act causes both sides to noticeably relax.

“Megatron,” Optimus begins cordially.

“Optimus Prime,” Megatron nods in turn.

“Should we just begin by stating what our conditions for peace are?” Optimus relinquishes his grip and pulls back somewhat.

“My major condition is obvious: Decepticons must be equal to Autobots in all things,” Megatron crosses his arms and waits to see how Optimus will react.

“Of course, I assure you the equality of all. In turn, as I know that a serious goal of yours has been the dominion over all Cybertronians, I would like to make an offer,” Optimus measures his words carefully as he tries to keep the sting of what he’s about to offer at bay.

Megatron hums in thought then says, “Consider me intrigued.”

“I would like to suggest or, rather, to request a shared rule. To work together, you and I, as equals in deciding the future of our people,” Optimus watches as his words cause Megatron to show unshielded surprise.

“Your elite have accepted this?” Megatron almost coughs out incredulously.

“They were the ones to suggest it,” Optimus admits gesturing helplessly.

Megatron looks away in stunned acceptance, “very well,” he looks back, hands now resting on his hips.

“Also,” Optimus starts but pauses to wait for Megatron to gather himself.

“There’s more?” Megatron chuckes.

“You and a force one hundred strong are welcome to our base to begin discussing our peace treaty in further detail,” Optimus hears Rodimus whisper a soft “what” behind him after he says this and Ultra Magnus quickly hushes him.

“I- ha,” Megatron shakes his head in disbelief, “How can I refuse? You’re… I’m flattered, Prime.”

From behind him he hears footsteps quickly approach them and he turns around to see Ultra Magnus reach out to stop Rodimus but it’s too late making a look of panic cross his third-in-command’s face. Optimus regards his protege with interest and caution as he approaches them, not stopping him only due to the determined look on Rodimus’s face which is very different to the anger he normally shows when he’s about to start an argument.

“I’ll be your escort to the base,” Rodimus declares proudly as he stands at attention in front of the warlord.

Optimus recoils as if physically struck and if they were able to see his face they’d see the dumbstruck expression on his face.  
“What?” Deadlock spits out sarcastically, “So you can parade us around? Is that it?”

“He the potential next Prime, Deadlock,” Starscream calls over coolly, not bothering to look at his ally, “His importance to the Autobot cause is second only to Optimus’s. He’s trying to be courteous.”

“Hm, well…” Deadlock crosses his arms and looks away, “hm.”

“Not potential…” Rodimus smiles with renewed confidence, “I will be.”

“Whatever,” Starscream rolls his eyes.

“Very well,” Megatron addresses Rodimus considering him carefully.

“I will leave it to you, Rodimus,” Optimus pats his shoulder while doing his best to conceal the immense pride welling within his spark.

Rodimus gives him a willing smile before being led off begrudgingly by an irritated Deadlock, their progress watched carefully by Ultra Magnus with concern and by Starscream with amusement.

“Then I will leave Starscream with you,” Megatron says while still watching Rodimus over his shoulder.

“What?” Starscream trills harshly whipping back to look at his lord.

“Starscream,” Megatron sighs, “You are to assess the Autobot system of command on a superficial level and prepare a report for me so we may begin to assess how power might be distributed.”

“I… Yes, Lord Megatron,” Starscream’s haughty pose slackens and he goes to stand next to Ultra Magnus who is now incredibly uncomfortable.

Deadlock suppresses a chuckle at the display, Rodimus offers him a shrug, and Megatron gives him an approving nod.

“This is acceptable?” Megatron asks Optimus.

“More than acceptable,” Optimus eyes shine bright with amusement, “I look forward to getting to know your second-in-command better.”

“I’ll meet you at your base tomorrow then.”

“I’ll see you then.”

With that Megatron turns to leave, following Deadlock and Rodimus onto the ship the Decepticons had originally come on that takes off with a thundering roar causing powerful gusts of wind to blow over the small island before disappearing into the distance over the City of Copenhagen. Optimus and Ultra Magnus turn to look at Starscream who still looks off into the distance looking dismayed by his latest orders but ultimately resigned.

“Shall we?” Ultra Magnus gestures to the incoming airship.

“Might as well,” Starscream grumbles.

Tension lays thick in the air as Optimus moves towards the council room with Ultra Magnus and Starscream in tow as all the Autobots they pass openly stare at the Decepticon making his way through their well-guarded, secluded base. Expecting this reaction, Optimus walks determinedly to meet with his officers, ignoring all the uneasy looks that turn his way well aware of the wary glances that Ultra Magnus was throwing Starscream as well. As they walk into the council room, Arcee watches Starscream carefully as he takes a seat at the table clearly just as unhappy about the situation as she is but she thankfully keeps her objections to herself. Elita-1 looks at Optimus with an unspoken question, demanding an explanation for his presence here.

“Believe me,” Starscream rests a cheek on his fist as he glares at the table, “I don’t like having Megatron order my presence here either.”

“We’ll be working with the Decepticons completely from this moment on,” Optimus explains as he sits down, “we might as well start getting used to their presence now.”

“Where’s Rodimus,” Elita-1 looks around for their missing companion.

“Escorting more Decepticons to the base so we may begin the real peace talks,” Ultra Magnus offers in explanation as he massages his temples, “Although, it seems that perhaps that the actual peace itself is not the major point of interest but the complete rework in our chain of command so that- I can’t believe you actually let him go, Optimus.”

“I appreciate your concern, Magnus,” Optimus wraps an arm around his friends shoulders, “but he’ll be okay. I trust him and so should you.”

“I still feel like, maybe,” Elita grabs Optimus’s attention, “just maybe, Megatron may still be plotting something here.”

“I know my words don’t mean much because I’m just a lying Decepticon,” everyone present turns to Starscream and he continues, “but let me attempt to reassure you in this respect. I would not be here if Megatron wasn’t absolutely certain that his main goal was now to be peace. I certainly wouldn’t have withheld my objections were that not the case. Believe this if nothing else: I am just as doubtful of the feasibility of this burgeoning alliance as you are but… I am willing to try.”

The room is quiet after he finishes his little speech and they all regard him carefully, contemplating his words. He doesn’t look up to meet any of their eyes, staring determinedly at the table with his wings pulled taught. Then the doors slam open startling him so thoroughly he almost falls out of his seat but the rest in the room just turn to the intruder as though this were a common occurrence and Starscream thinks that may very well be the case due to the cool calm of the mechs around him. A white mech with red and green accents as well as ridiculous head finials turns out to be the one to have just bursted in. Starscream takes this moment to study the mech that is apparently important enough to just interrupt an officer meeting but one that he’s never seen before.

“Optimus! I’ve put the last touches on the project you ordered,” he starts going over a datapad he holds in front of Optimus, “see this will-”

“Thank you, Wheeljack,” Optimus cuts hims off surprising him, “but that’s no longer necessary. We’re making peace with the Decepticons.”

“What?! Since when?!” Wheeljack throws his hands up while effectively discarding his datapad with his apparently obsolete project.

“Since the battle three days ago,” Elita offers helpfully.

“What?” Wheeljack whispers in awe, “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“You don’t like anyone interrupting your work,” Bumblebee says pointedly, “We did send you a message to your hud.”

“You know I never check my messages,” Wheeljack scoffs then clears his intake realizing his mistake, “Well, uh, good to know. Good over all. Good to know. Good. To. Know.”

“Wheeljack,” Arcee says fondly.

“Yes!”

“How about you show Starscream around and lend him datapads with low level access?”

“Starscream?” Wheeljack looks around before landing on Starscream’s form making his eyes widen.

“Yes, I’m here too,” Starscream smirks, “but before any tour I do have a report Megatron wants me to relay to Optimus.”

“Let’s hear it then,” Elita gestures for him to continue.

“Yes, well,” Starscream clears his intake, “You can be assured with full authority that no action will be taken against your human allies anymore although we are unwilling to take any action in support thereof. It’s understood that your alliance will the organics of this world holds great importance to you so we will not do anything to interfere but are hesitant to do anything in support. Our first concern is our own. Another concern I am uncertain whether you are willing to support our efforts in is that over the course of the war we’ve created quite a few enemies beyond the Autobots and the Earthlings. What I ask on behalf of the Decepticons is that you consider aiding us in smoothing over relations whether it be through treatise or conflict. As I understand it, there are many discontent with the Autobots as well and so you would be assured assistance in dealing with your enemies in turn.”

“Starscream,” Bumblebee pipes in, “Your enemies are going to become our enemies. You’re still determined to see the Decepticons and Autobots as separate entities but that’s not going to be the case anymore. Through this peace, if we are going to have true peace we have to reunite everyone meaning…”

“Meaning the dissolving of the Autobot and Decepticon factions, officially,” Optimus fills in solemnly.

“I…” Starscream looks helplessly at Optimus, his face distorting as though he were tasting something bitter, “Then what would we be?”

“In any case, you have a point,” Elita dismisses his question, “It’s a foolish idea to believe everything would be sunshine and rainbows after what I feel is going to be the new government is established. We’ll have to keep up defenses to assure we aren’t weak against any outside threat that might think we’re any even bigger target now that we’ve stopped fighting each other.”

“Agreed,” Optimus nods.

Starscream nods in agreement as well and remains silent, taking in what’s being said carefully. Silence permeates the air as tension is born anew, one none of them are quite sure how to break.

“Hey,” Wheeljack walks up to Starscream, “How about that tour now?”

“Oh,” Starscream stands up and gestures for him to lead the, “I should look at those files now.”

Optimus watches them go as they leave the room before being pulled back by what Arcee has to say.

“Are you sure it’s wise just to let him have at it?” her eyes glance over at the closed door pointedly, “If this fails, the Decepticons will have vital information on us and our troop movements.”

“And so will we,” Optimus points out, “Rodimus is currently in the middle of Decepticon high command and has, probably, by now asked far too many questions to the point where they’ve just let him have at it.”

“That was rather underhanded of you,” Bumblebee chuckles lightly, “To let that menace run amuck among the Decepticons.”  
“Speaking of which,” Optimus frowns, “Where’s Prowl?”

“After he discovered Starscream was on his way over he threw a tantrum, flipping tables, the whole deal,” Elita scowls at the memory, “He’s on the roof cooling down, I suspect. I think he didn’t want to see the ‘con in person which was probably a good call on his part. If he wasn’t going to be able to control himself in front of Starscream then there would’ve been no point for him being here.”

“I see.”

“He better be able to control his ire around Megatron,” Ultra Magnus warns, “We need him just as much as anyone.”

“Maybe you should go talk to him,” Optimus suggests a little awkwardly, “Seems like he could use a good vent and you’re better at not getting angry at him for the things he says than I am.”

“Very well,” Ultra Magnus sighs and takes his leave.

Optimus rests his head in his hands looking suddenly very tired, the wear and tear on his plating evident in the soft light of the room. He’s seen endless war, fought countless enemies, caused just as many deaths as anyone else but this was starting to look like his greatest challenge yet. More than ever, he feels the years he’s lived in the creaking of old joints, the disjointed hum of power lines, and the ache from healed twisted metal in his chassis. Even so, for the first time in a long time, happiness, gentle and warm brightens his optics.

“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for ourselves,” he jokes.

“That’s an understatement,” Bumblebee laughs.


	3. Strange Bedfellows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendships are built and chaos ensues as the beginnings of the Autobot-Decepticon alliance are finally underway.

Relief washes over Starscream as they exit the council room but he doesn’t dare let it show on his face, not here, not in this place. He turns his gaze on his unexpected savior, curious as to how such a ridiculous person could be anything remotely close to a commanding officer. Must be an Autobot thing. Wheeljack doesn’t seem to notice the attention he’s receiving so, Starscream takes this moment to observe his new ally and assess his qualities since, perhaps, he could be of some use for his own ends in the future. The scientist certainly seems trusting enough to be gullible to any plan he might implement whether it would be to usurp more power or to garner an exit so long as he plays it in a heartfelt way, he’s sure, he would have Wheeljack in his pocket. While studying his companion as they make their ways through the halls, he notices that Wheeljack is a bit of a popular figure, enough so that people are more than happy to come up and make small talk with him in spite of the fact that Starscream is also present. After a bit, Wheeljack finally looks over at Starscream, startling the seeker somewhat, the reaction passing imperceptibly in his optics and the smile that that’s surely under Wheeljack’s mask reaches his bright, blue optics. He gestures to a door down a ways and Starscream follows him through it to find a busy, messy lab strewn with half-complete guns and projects he can only begin to guess at the function of. They quickly rush through the lab and into a larger, far more expansive lab that even has a docking bay for transports in the middle of construction. Starscream admits a touch of admiration for the apparent Autobot ingenuity and even jealousy at some of the tools on display.

“Impressed?” Wheeljack asks Starscream with a twinkle in his eye making Starscream scoff although it comes out more amused than peeved.

“It’s adequate, I suppose,” Starscream relents, smirking at the slight slump of Wheeljack’s broad shoulders and unimpressed gaze.

“Yeah,” Wheeljack drags out, unconvinced by Starscream’s words, “well, anyway, there’s a few others you ought to meet.”

Wheeljack waves his hand in a vague direction while walking away, not checking to see if Starscream was following him. Starscream raises a brow at him, starting to see the appeal he has to the other Autobots: ridiculous, light, confident. He follows the scientist into yet another lab huffing a little at the absurdity of it all as this was beginning to become a bit ridiculous because, really, how much research space do the Autobots need anyway? This lab is far neater than the previous one that he had been shown and realizes that that one had probably been Wheeljack’s personal lab while this one is under the care of whoever he’s supposed to meet now. Looking back to try and find Wheeljack he freezes as his eyes meet the frame of none other than Brainstorm. Brainstorm, the bastard Autobot who dares call himself the smartest scientist of all time, who destroyed Starscream’s own pet-project with one well-placed antimatter bomb. Brainstorm’s own optics twitch above his mask, surely remembering his own trials and tribulations that he’s faced at the hands of Starscream. The more solemn-looking, red and blue mech next to Brainstorm clears his vocalizer to pull their seething gazes away from each other and back to their compatriots.

“I see you know Brainstorm,” the mech states, straightforward, matter-of-fact, and without any hint of finding the situation amusing, “his reputation tends to proceed him. I’m Perceptor. I hope we may together amicably.”

“So do I,” Starscream says while side-eyeing Brainstorm.

“Perceptor,” Wheeljack carefully maneuvers himself between Starscream and Brainstorm, “Do you think I could get copies of the files that detail-”

“Standard procedure, conduct, and command,” Perceptor interrupts him while holding out a datapad, “Bumblebee commed ahead. Although, I hadn’t expected to see you so soon.”

“How come?” Wheeljack hands off the datapad to Starscream.

“I thought you would familiarize Starscream with the base first,” Perceptor shrugs noncommittally then starts getting back to work, “didn’t think you would be so eager to show him your lab.”

“I just figured that the files were the priority,” Wheeljack explains and Perceptor just shrugs again.

“Well,” Brainstorm shifts awkwardly, “it’s always nice to see you, Jack but there’s a lot to do.”

“Right,” Wheeljack tenses as if remembering something important, “we’ll catch you later. Have to show him around anyway.”

“Have fun,” Brainstorm teases then joins Perceptor.

As they make their way out of the lab, Starscream’s eyes linger on the two, now thoroughly engrossed in their work as if they’d never been interrupted at all.

“Well those two seem friendly,” Starscream muses sarcastically as he looks over the datapad.

“What?” Wheeljack turns quickly to look at Starscream then looks away just as fast, seeming a bit preoccupied, “Yeah, I guess they are a bit cozy with each other.”

Starscream looks up at him curiously and watches as he spaces out to think something over.

“That’s not what I…” Starscream trails off when Wheeljack looks to him, patiently waiting for him to continue, “Nevermind. So, the tour?”

“Right,” Wheeljack nods and leads them down another hall, “You know, I just don’t get him sometimes.”

“What?”

“Perceptor,” Wheeljack says his name as if that’s all the explanation he needs, “What was that about anyway? ‘I didn’t expect to see you so soon.’ I can be responsible! He doesn’t have to have such a low opinion of me.”

“I think you’re reading too much into this,” Starscream responds a bit baffled.

“You can never read too much into it when it comes to Perceptor.”

“If you say so,” Starscream rolls his eyes and returns to the datapad.

“I am responsible,” Wheeljack declares determinedly.

“Yes, very responsible,” Starscream humors him.

“Thank you,” Wheeljack puffs up a little.

“For a mech who’s in the habit of never checking his messages,” Starscream delights in the offended jerk that gets out of Wheeljack.

“Did…” Wheeljack watches Starscream with new interest, “Did you just joke with me?”

“What? No, of course not,” Starscream waves him off casually, incredibly amused by his antics, “Now, where are we going?”

“Oh, the hangars,” Wheeljack explains, “Kind of figured you’d like to know where they are.”

“Yes,” Starscream says a bit softly in surprise towards his consideration, “that would be nice.”

Wheeljack takes him to the hangars and doesn’t seem to notice the near-constant vigilance of those around them. Then they head to the dining commons where even more people greet Wheeljack while carefully keeping space between themselves and Starscream. After that they go to the housing block then the meeting hall, then the recreation room, then the central commons. Then, finally, WHeeljack takes him up an impossibly tall staircase that passes floor after floor that Starscream could never fathom the use or need for. Even as a flier, looking down the descending steps that go deep into the mountainside gives him a slight feeling of vertigo. Just as he’s about to ask where they could possibly be going, Wheeljack opens a door that leads out onto the roof, revealing the large expanse of mountains the base is nestled in. Starscream steps out and for one of the few moments he’s allowed himself, he admires how beautiful the landscape of Earth truly is as he gazes at the snow-capped mountains that glisten in the late evening light. The lower sun makes the whole world turn a warm hue as the snow shimmers in the soft light. He barely notices Wheeljack move around as he takes it all in.

“Over here,” Wheeljack calls over, breaking the trance.

Starscream walks over and sits down next to Wheeljack on the bench near the ledge of the roof that gives an even better view of the landscape.

“This is Optimus’s brooding bench,” Wheeljack pats the bench affectionately.

“What?” Starscream laughs as he’s once again caught off guard by Wheeljack.

“He made this bench when we finally stopped building up. He comes up here to brood over the great weight of leadership and the fate of the Autobots when he thinks no one will notice he’s gone.”

“Ha,” Starscream shakes his head, “Megatron has a spot of his own for such an occasion.”

“Really? Huh, I guess that makes sense.”  
Starscream turns to give Wheeljack his full attention and brings up the thought he just can’t get rid of, “Why did you bring me here?”

Wheeljack just looks off into the horizon for a while and scratches at his neck nervously.

“I don’t know,” Wheeljack fidgets with his hands while determinedly not looking at Starscream, “Thought you might like it if someone didn’t treat you like the enemy.”

“But I am the enemy.”

“Not anymore,” Wheeljack says pointedly, looking Starscream in the eye.

“You- You’re not afraid of me,” Starscream squints at Wheeljack not believing this bot was actually real, “are you?”

“Should I be?”

“You don’t get out on the field much do you?”

“Would be more than happy to help out on the field but commission after commission keeps me here. So, short answer: no.”

“Well, then I suppose that explains why I didn’t know who you were,” Starscream leans back.

“Yeah? Would I be someone you’d make note of?”

“Yes.”

Wheeljack looks taken aback and scratches his neck again and looks away, “Oh.”

They sit there like that for a little while, watching the clouds float by in golden light, feeling the cold breeze brush over their frames. It’s peaceful and calm. Starscream can’t seem to remember when he last felt so… nice.

“So,” Wheeljack breaks the calm, “You know Brainstorm?”

Starscream scoffs and straightens his position, “That’s one way to put it I suppose.”

“What- if you don’t mind me asking, what happened between you?”

“I made the core system for a self-modulating information distribution array that would collect, store, and distribute information in every system within the possession of the Decepticon army. Its power was from what the human’s call ‘green technology’ meaning solar and wind. It would have run indefinitely as it gathered and stored more power than it consumed. Then Brainstorm came along and destroyed a century’s worth of work with one well-placed antimatter bomb,” Starscream retells his greatest tragedy with deeply rooted bitterness in his voice.

“You mean the system that would have allowed the Decepticons to know everything about everything in an instant,” Wheeljack recalls the files on the invention with awe, “The invention that would have won you the war.”

“Precisely,” Starscream grumbles.

“Oh, well then I can see- Wait!” Wheeljack interrupts him as complete and utter shock overtakes his frame, “That was you?! You built that!?”

“Yes,” Starscream quirks his brows, “you didn’t know?”

“I knew a Decepticon scientist built it,” Wheeljack gesticulates wildly, “I didn’t know who exactly built it. It wasn’t important at the time, we just needed to figure out how to stop the damn thing. It didn’t- It wasn’t a weapon but, wow, would it have done some damage. You built that?”

“As I said before,” Starscream considers Wheeljack with a bit of mirth but also some confusion, “yes, that was me. Thank you, as well. I’m happy to know that my invention was at least impressive to you even if it was destroyed by your lot.”

Wheeljack stands up quickly and puts his hands on Starscream’s shoulders making him tense at the sudden contact almost getting ready for an attack.

“Be my lab partner,” Wheeljack blurts out stalling all the combat systems that were booting up in Starscream’s hud.

“What?” Starscream stares openly at Wheeljack.

“You’re brilliant and thorough and creative and I want to see what we can build together,” Wheeljack rants excitedly, “We’re in an alliance now! A full blown alliance! We don’t have to steal each others schematics, blue prints, or data. We can work together and we can make the information array again but better, faster, and more powerful. So, what do you say?”

“I…” Starscream feels light under Wheeljack’s touch and praise, and something like excitement bubbles up within him, “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

Starscream leaps up and Wheeljack all but drags him back down to the labs where they excitedly begin workshopping ideas. Back on the roof lays a datapad open on the page for proper procedure on Optimus’s bench illuminated by the setting sun, forgotten.

Deadlock marches down the halls of the flagship of the Decepticon fleet followed closely by the flaming supposed Prime-to-be who keeps rattling off question after question about this Decepticon rumor or what that thing over there did. He moves pass several of his fellow soldiers who all throw him looks of sympathy or humor as Rodimus remains oblivious of what should feel like a very dangerous situation. He can’t tell if the primeling is really that confident or just that stupid. In any case he finally makes it to the records room and slams five datapads into the hands of his assigned ward. Rodimus looks at them for a moment dumbly, a stunned look on his face then waits for Deadlock’s explanation. Deadlock pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs deeply.

“This should provide answers to any relevant questions you have. No, we don’t have regular showdowns. They’re barbaric and a relic of the Golden Age we’re trying to remove ourselves from to this day. No, interfacing among Decepticons isn’t that loose or open. In fact, if anything, from what you’ve been saying our approach on interface between troops is actually far stricter than it is for Autobots. No, you may not ‘try out’ my swords. Now, if you would please, shut up and read the datapads. They contain all you need to know.”

“Yeesh,” Rodimus laughs, “Well, out of all the rumors about the Decepticons it seems like you all being up-tight and cold was true.”

Deadlock gives him an unamused flat look then pushes past him towards the block of habsuites to stop in front of his own and punches in the code to let the doors slide by. He makes it all the way to his berth then falls into the awaiting comfort, wanting to forget the troubles of the day. True rest, however, is impossible as he feels more than hears Rodimus wander around his habsuite looking at all of his personal items organized neatly around the room. At the very least the damned Autobot pretty-boy had finally shut up and did seem to take a quick scan over the datapads Deadlock had given him. After rummaging around the room some more, Rodimus finally settles himself down on Deadlock’s padded mat he uses for when he has to sharpen his swords or actually attempts some meditation. Not being able to fight off the burning curiosity, Deadlock turns his head to look at Rodimus to see what he’s up to now to find him with an unusual, considerate expression that has Deadlock sitting up to better observe his unwanted guest. Before, the pride of the Autobots had been all smiles, jokes, and light banter but something more serious hangs over Rodimus now and shows that he has. in fact, seen his own part of the war. He looks less ignorant of struggle now as his eyes stare off into space with a gaze that Deadlock recognizes only all too well and immediately finds himself wanting to know what could be hidden beneath the mask of cheer of this Autobot.

“Rodimus,” Deadlock calls to him and receives a sweltering smile in return, “what exactly is your position among the Autobots?”

“I help run the show,” Rodimus boasts confidently and casually crosses his arms behind his head, “You know, troop movements, battle strategies, infiltration teams. That sort of thing. I’m a pretty big deal.”

“Yes, I’m sure you are,” Deadlock sighs as he begins to regret opening his mouth.

“I’m serious!” Rodimus claims as he leaps up to face Deadlock, clearly frustrated.

This peaks Deadlock’s interest and he says nothing knowing that he only needs to wait out the bot.

“I’ve done a lot for the Autobot cause! I’m an excellent leader and I’ve lead countless successful missions. I’ve even outsmarted Megatron on several occasions! You remember that stunt he tried to pull in Russia? How he was stopped? That was me!” Rodimus is pacing around the room and Deadlock watches him carefully considering his words but if he said was true…

“You mean you’re the one that was able to sniff out Megatron’s latest super-soldier project?” Deadlock looks skeptically at his ward.

“Yes!” Rodimus says, grateful that he knows what he’s talking about then continues on more dejectedly, “But when I returned to let them all know I’d beaten Megatron, destroyed his latest scheme, all they did was scold me for not being more careful or thorough in collecting intel. Nothing I do is enough for them.”

“I thought it was a careful ploy on the part of Autobot high command,” Deadlock stands up to face Rodimus with a bit of incredulity, “You’re telling me that the assault on the base was on a whim?”

“Well, not a whim, exactly,” Rodimus has the decency to look a little embarrassed, “I didn’t report the location of the base to high command because the project was already in the late stages. It would have been absolute carnage had the project succeeded. So, with the help of my squad and a few bombs we took it out. ‘More careful’, yeah, like that would have done any good.”

“You,” Deadlock looks at Rodimus suddenly with a new light, “That was you. It was brutal and efficient. We had no idea to expect an assault on the base. Our focus was on the forces you had stationed in the UK. We thought that it had specifically been a distraction to pull us away so you could strike but you’re telling me you just found it and decided ‘let’s blow it up’?”

“Yeah,” Rodimus crosses his arms defensively, “What of it?”

Deadlock laughs, actually laughs at this, “It’s just that that was very ‘Decepticon’ of you. We wouldn’t hesitate in a situation like that either. I’m impressed, primeling.”

“Thanks,” Rodimus looks at him skeptically, “I think.”

“You sure you’re an Autobot?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

A pause comes up between them as they size each other up, suddenly far more interested in the other now. Deadlock, amused by this find and Rodimus’s frustration thinks that this might not be so bad after all. Rodimus holds a steady glare at the Decepticon and takes not of the wheels on his frame making him come up with something they could do to kill time since he clearly wasn’t getting anywhere otherwise.

“Can you race?” Rodimus asks a cheeky grin forming at Deadlock’s curious look.

“Seeing as how I’m a racecar,” Deadlock gives a haughty tilt of his head, “yes.”

With a wicked glint in his eyes, Rodimus asks, “Wanna race?”

Thunderclash sits in the main commons and has a rare moment alone away from his fellow Autobots whom he loves with all his spark but they could get a little overwhelming. His thoughts are a mess as they all await the Decepticon forces that would arrive the very next day but what’s more is that Rodimus is with them. Thunderclash had been furious when he heard that Optimus had traded him over for Starscream who is Primus knows where at this moment doing who knows what while Rodimus is stuck among Decepticon forces, alone and unguarded. Rodimus is a talented fighter and leader, he knows this, he does but that doesn’t stop the immense amount of worry that prickles at his spark. Nothing could satisfy his worry until Rodimus was returned safe and sound. Despite his best efforts, his friends had noticed the air of doom and gloom he feels and had doubled their efforts to try and make him smile which was all for not and just wound up stressing them all out. To avoid issues he had tactfully extricated himself by claiming he had some unfinished reports he’d forgotten about and needed to do them right. In reality, he’s just alone worrying over a bot that will always be outside of his reach. It was the worst kept secret of the Autobots that Rodimus has some kind of vendetta against him that he just can’t seem to break free of. Which, of course, only makes this whole thing that much worse because even though Thunderclash wants to protect him, Rodimus wouldn’t appreciate Thunderclash thinking he needed protection.

The heavy “thunk” of a large bot sitting next to him startles him out of his thoughts and he looks up to see none other than Ultra Magnus sitting next to him. At the sight of his superior officer, he begins to scramble up to salute him but is stopped by a large, gentle hand.

“You’re worried about him,” Ultra Magnus states plainly.

“I am,” Thunderclash nods.

“I am too,” Ultra Magnus sighs, surprising Thunderclash.

“He’ll be fine, though,” Thunderclash tries to say confidently, “He has to be.”

“He’ll come back to us in one piece but he will have almost certainly created one incident if not several,” Ultra Magnus rubs at his temple at the thought of the chaos Rodimus is capable of, “If he doesn’t, I will be very surprised and a little bit worried because how would that happen without something being wrong?”

Thunderclash lets himself laugh at that, the worry ebbing away just a bit at the thought of Rodimus causing trouble for the Decepticons.

“I hope you’ll be there to keep him safe.”

“Sir?” Thunderclash looks up at Ultra Magnus to see him frown thoughtfully.

“He is capable but he trusts a little too easily at times,” Ultra Magnus explains, “A quality I feel Optimus’s teachings have instilled in him. He tries desperately to be like Optimus, you know.”

“Yes,” Thunderclash looks a little sadly at Magnus, “I do.”

“But, he has become an admirable mech over the past few centuries,” something akin to a smile makes its way to Magnus’s lips, “Can’t let him know that, of course. The praise would go to his head.”

“I don’t know,” Thunderclash says thoughtfully, “I think you should tell him. I don’t think he hears things like that enough from the people he most wants to hear them from.”

Ultra Magnus takes this in and mulls over it for a moment, for a very long moment, enough so that Thunderclash eventually decides to retire to his quarters since it was already late. He leaves after awkwardly patting Magnus’s shoulder who only nods in acknowledgement. Magnus sits there for a while, and he too worries about the return of their wayward friend.

The next day didn’t come soon enough for Megatron. After having to deal with the impromptu drag race sparked by Rodimus and Deadlock there was then what could have only been described as a party in their dining commons. Now, quite a few of his troops are out of commission due to the rough housing from the race and party and several more are under-efficient due to their heavy inebriation from the night before. Megatron had, apparently, underestimated the sheer charisma the primeling seems to possess as he was able to orchestrate both events with seemingly very little effort that left all those who had been involved somewhat enamored by the young bot. He had also foolishly thought that having Deadlock chaperone him would keep him out of trouble, instead, it had only served as a catalyst for even more chaos and destruction as they both kept winding each other up with the need to outdo each other. Both of the mechs that had caused him a migraine now stand next to him on the bridge so he can keep and eye on both of them so no more harm could be done. What’s worse was that even Grimlock and Skywarp had their fair share of the fun and kept looking to the primeling with positive gestures or knowing smiles and, on Grimlock’s part, even a bit of fond admiration. To say that Megatron is currently incredibly uncomfortable and irate would be an understatement of epic proportions. Shockwave and himself stand alone among a sea of hooligans on his bridge. To some degree, however, he can’t blame his troops for wanting to let loose, for it has been some time since they’ve had anything to truly celebrate.

“Lord Megatron,” Shockwave calls over, “We will be arriving at the Autobot base within the hour.”

“Oh, thank Primus,” Megatron mutters under his breath before addressing Shockwave, “Thank you, Shockwave.”

“Good,” Deadlock huffs, “Then I can finally be rid of this nuisance.”

“Aw,” Rodimus playfully elbows Deadlock making his mask of annoyance falter some, “and here I thought we were getting along so well.”

“While at the Autobot base I expect you to stay with Rodimus, Deadlock,” Megatron says without room for argument although he knows he’s going to regret this decision to some degree, “It is as much for appearances as it is for your own safety.”

“Yes, Lord Megatron,” Deadlock bows to Megatron making Rodimus distinctly uncomfortable.

Eventually the ship lands at the base and Megatron has to hide his surprise at the sheer magnitude of the structure. Once they unload from the ship they are greeted by Optimus and his high command crowded by what feels like the entirety of the Autobots which might as well be the case. Megatron and Optimus meet each other halfway and make a show of shaking hands which causes an eruption of applause and cheers before they make their way further into the base. Optimus calls off orders to his officers to show the Decepticons where they would be staying and necessary facilities for work, including the labs. With each order more and more mechs break away from the parade they lead through the halls as Megatron follows Optimus to wherever it is they are going. Eventually, even Rodimus pulls away with Deadlock in tow, claiming something about showing him the best slopes on the mountain and Megatron can already feel the piles of reports headed his way. Prowl stubbornly lingers to the very end when they reach some sort of office but Optimus dismisses even him leaving them alone in the office that Megatron discovers to be Optimus’s personal workspace. They sit down across from each other at a table and the room falls absolutely silent.

Megatron and Optimus can’t seem to say anything and just stare at each other as though the words would just come but nothing does. Millenia of war has passed with the two of them at odds with each other and they never struggled with what to say to each other then but now they couldn’t even come up with some kind of small talk. After a few more minutes, Optimus sighs and does something that Megatron thought he’d never see unless he forced it himself: Optimus takes off his mask. It doesn’t help Megatron’s case of speechlessness as all he can do is stare intensely at Optimus’s surprisingly handsome features, the sharp angles of his face. Optimus face contorts into a look of concern as Megatron continues his observation.

“Megatron,” Optimus finds his voice.

“Optimus,” Megatron replies in kind.

“Is everything alright?” Optimus broaches carefully.

Megatron forces himself to think of other topics and immediately one certain primeling comes to mind, “Half of my forces are out of commision and the other half are all hopelessly inefficient because of that successor of yours. They’re either nursing processor aches or ogling at his brightly painted spoiler, distracting them from their work.”

Optimus blinks at him then bursts out into a hearty chuckle that has Megatron grumbling in frustration.

“That,” Optimus catches his breath, “that is not what I was expecting.”

“No?” Megatron says with no small amount of sarcasm.

“I’ll have a talk with him about his behavior,” Optimus promises as a way to ease the situation.

“See that you do. Although, I doubt that will do much good.”

“He does have a way of making trouble wherever he goes.”

“You say that a little too fondly for my liking,” Megatron points an accusatory finger at the Prime.

“Perhaps,” Optimus concedes, still smiling, “I will talk to him, though, I promise. Now, shall we begin?”


	4. All Good Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Autobots and Decepticons continue to acclimatize to each other. The Autobots show the Decepticons that they can let loose a little.

This is his worst nightmare come reality. He knows that this is all for a good cause, that this is all so that the war can end, so that they don’t have to fight anymore but something about this makes it feel as though it’s a specific attack against him. Whatever he had done to deserve this is lost to him. All he knows is that there is no way he’s going to be able to extricate himself from this without causing some kind of incident whether it be political or personal in nature either way hurting his reputation as a whole. So, he just had to suck it up and take the small comfort that his partner is as enthusiastic about this as he is. Prowl sighs and levels a hard look on Shockwave sitting across from him who meets his gaze without so much as a twitch. They have been going over troop integration and supply distribution for the past seven hours with very little progress and it was starting to get on both of their nerves. Whoever thought that it was a good idea to pair him with Shockwave of all Decepticons to do this is clearly out of their mind. Even so, they had to persist in this task they’ve been assigned because if they have anything in common is that they are prideful mechs who like getting the job done. Shockwave sets down the datapad in his hand and slides it over to Prowl to reveal more of his meticulous notes on Prowl’s most recent proposal that could hardly be called notes as they take up more space than Prowl’s proposal. Prowl slams down the datapad with a growl while Shockwave looks on impassively more than used to Prowl’s little fits of anger by now.

“Integrating soldiers based upon skill sets alone isn’t going to work!” Prowl shouts for what feels like the thousandth time.

Everytime he offers a proposal Shockwave knocks it down with logistics of how the arrangements aren’t optimal for the individuals available to them the Prowl has to remind the seemingly feelingless bot that there is more to people than just logistics.

“The proposal is highly flawed,” Shockwave dead pans, his single optic flickering with an unreadable emotion, “Admittedly, your latest proposal is highly improved than the last one. I, however, am unable to understand your necessity for team ‘chemistry’. They are soldiers and are therefore accustomed to difficult situations where they must cooperate under even the most extreme conditions. I understand the necessity and effect of good moral and that it is affected, in part, by the makeup of squads. However, a squad that is able to balance off each other’s assets to be able to efficiently complete tasks and missions reduces stress far better than a team that has cooperation solely from social dynamics. A solely socially dependent squad will falter under duress if one squad member is in danger and is more likely to make unaffordable errors.”

“Mixing Decepticons with Autobots is already putting them all ‘under duress’,” Prowl bites back not missing a beat, “They’ve fought against each other and will be reluctant to put aside grudges. If you put rival with rival in the same squad even if their ‘assets’ balance well together the squad will be slag because they’ll be too busy fighting each other than working on whatever they’re assigned to. Autobots tend to be emotional.”

“This peace has only begun working as it is self-evident that the desire to fight has decreased staggeringly among all forces,” Shockwave counters while pulling up more of his ridiculous graphs that Prowl has now grown sick of, “It is reasonable to believe that they would be able to work together.”

“Seeing the Decepticons and Autobots as entities that need to get along is easier than having to actually work alongside someone that killed or hurt people you know,” Prowl growls as he stands up, “You must have forgotten how people work or are so separated from the reality that you no longer understand what the numbers behind the death count mean.”

“To continue on with such petty feuds is illogical,” Shockwave stands up to meet Prowl.

“People are illogical,” Prowl gets a firm grip on the table in front of him so that dents form and hefts up the table so that it flips up and away from him and in the direction of his partner.

Shockwave quickly catches the table midair and flips back into the proper position dexterously before slamming it back down in front of Prowl. Prowl gapes slightly at the table then looks back up at the intimidating visage of Shockwave who remains unphased by his display of fury and Prowl can’t help but feel a bit of ire burn within him along with a reluctant amount of respect for his calm.

“I see,” Shockwave rumbles out as if amused, “Thank you for this insightful test, Prowl. If I may, I think I have a solution.”

“What?” Prowl infuriated at finding out he was being used for one of Shockwave’s “tests”.

“I think this would be a good time to test methodology,” Shockwave picks up one of the discarded datapads and scrolls through to look for something, “We can have select groups that are formatted to be the most efficient based upon their abilities and groups that are formatted for best ‘chemistry’. Then, we may get a reasonable idea as to how well one method works as compared to the other. These conditions, ofcourse, by no means ideal to truly test the effectiveness of one method over the other but, at least initially, it will give us some amount of data to work with to appropriately incorporate everyone. Each test afterward would become muddier and far more prone to unknown factors to-”

“I get your sick fascination with observing behavior and idiosyncrasies,” Prowl interrupts so he wouldn’t have to hear Shockwave drawl on about his particular interest, “While I don’t like this being another one of your ‘tests’, I agree that it’s not a bad idea to try. I just hope it doesn’t cause more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Then we have come to a decision,” Shockwave sits back down and taps once at the dents in the table with mild interest.

“Now we have to decide who gets what treatment,” Prowl grumbles and sits back down as well.

Despite his misgivings, Prowl finds they work quite well after that now they actually have a common goal in troop assignment. They wear away the rest of the afternoon weighing pros and cons of certain arrangements rather than arguing about them and their work becomes… almost enjoyable.

Thunderclash definitely doesn’t like this. When Rodimus had returned with the Decepticons in tow he had been so relieved now he’s been discovering that the Decepticons have developed something of a soft spot for Rodimus. Now, everywhere he goes, Deadlock is just a step behind him and Thunderclash can’t help the desperate sense of jealousy that stings like needles in his spark. He knows it’s irrational and admires Rodimus for being able to make friends even among their long-time enemies, amazed even at the poise and graciousness the mech shows towards their new allies. That doesn’t change that Deadlock, a Decepticon, ranks above him now in Rodimus’s heart which hurts in ways Thunderclash can’t quite describe. Shaking off the feeling as best he can, he makes his way towards Rodimus who’s chatting quickly and excitedly with Deadlock about possibly making actual snowboards. Deadlock turns to look at him and his optics widen a bit in recognition making a warm swell of pride push away some of the terrible feelings as he makes his way to stand by Rodimus. The speedster looks up at Thunderclash, a passive look replacing the excited one he just had while talking with Deadlock.

“Hey, Blunders,” Rodimus waves casually, “Need something?”

“I just wanted to personally welcome you back, my Prime,” Thunderclash puts a hand over his spark and bows his head.

“I was only gone a day,” Rodimus rolls his eyes at the display, “You’re acting like I was gone for years.”

“You might as well have been,” Thunderclash relaxes his stance and smiles warmly at Rodimus, finding the tough display incredibly endearing, “This is a fragile time and to have you, someone so import to the Autobots, deep within Decepticon lines is an even more delicate situation. I admire you for your bravery and tact in this.”

“Thanks,” Rodimus crosses his arms and doesn’t look at Thunderclash.

“I know with you at the front of peace talks, we won’t fail,” Thunderclash continues to gush, “The Decepticons seem to have come to admire you and respect you. You truly are incredibly capable.”

Deadlock snickers breaking Thunderclash’s focus as he’s suddenly reminded of the Decepticon’s presence. Thunderclash raises a brow at him in question and Deadlock just shakes his head.

“‘Admire’,” Deadlock chuckles, “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“I’m sorry,” Thunderclash lowers his hand in confusion, “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh,” Deadlock drags out cheekily, “Just that a good part of the Decepticon army now wants to know what it’s like to go for a spin with the Prime.”

Rodimus spins towards Deadlock, shock written all over his face and the Decepticon just shrugs while Thunderclash shuffles uncomfortably.

“I… see,” Thunderclash looks down, lost.

“Well,” Rodimus looks away feeling self-conscious, “Thanks for checking in ‘Clash but we’ll be off now. I’m taking Deadlock snowboarding. Can you believe he’s never snowboarded before? It’s crazy!”

“He talks about it like it’s something you Autobots do all the time,” Deadlock looks at Thunderclash as if hoping for… something, “But I don’t really see the appeal.”

“Snowboarding?” Thunderclash looks at Rodimus for an answer.

“It’s- You don’t know what it is either? And we’ve been on Earth how long?” Rodimus is taken aback and looks at THunderclash as if seeing him for the first time.

“I haven’t had much time for recreational activities,” Thunderclash rolls his shoulders bashfully.

“How about you come with us too?” Deadlock looks the most excited he has in the entire time Rodimus has been hanging out with him.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Thunderclash looks at Rodimus to see how he reacts.

Rodimus is frowning at Deadlock as he says, “Sure, yeah, he can come along too.”  
“Excellent,” Deadlock looks to Rodimus who rolls his eyes and walks off.

Megatron walks through the halls, mind filled with the heavy amounts of protocol and rules clouding his head after his meeting with Optimus as he looks for his second-in-command in hopes that he can help him make some sense of it all. He and Optimus had decided to take a recess so they could consult their officers before continuing, so, they’re still technically in the preliminary stages of determining the details of the union. Nothing has been committed to paper as of yet but they are far closer, so close it almost finally feels real. It’s still a shock to be behind Autobot lines, greeted constantly with the site of Autobot soldiers everywhere he turns looking at him in varying degrees of fear and anger. He needs to be able to lead them but if he cannot figure out a way to gain their loyalty then all efforts towards peace could be lost in a matter of days or even hours. He really needs to find Starscream.

The base is absurdly large, he finds with floors upon floors with a pattern that it seems only the Autobots can decipher and efficiently navigate. The entire complex was clearly cobbled together over many years during the war as more space was needed or as defenses needed to be bolstered. In this maze, Megatron is losing hope of just finding Starscream by looking around unaided but who he could ask is lost to him as anyone who he might ask will most likely just run at the possibility of interaction with him or will be so stunned they won’t answer at all. It’s then that he spots Skywarp and Thundercracker in the main commons talking quietly to each other with a few other Decepticons hovering near them some of whom of which, to his surprise, are talking to a few of the Autobots. Megatron approaches them and they stand up to greet him at attention once they notice that he’s walking towards them.

“Lord Megatron,” Skywarp says with a slight bow, “What do you need of us?”

“Have you seen Starscream anywhere? I need to speak with him,” Megatron explains while looking around somewhat.

“No,” Thundercracker says helplessly, “We looked for him everywhere we could think of but…”

“Everyone we asked said he went off with someone called ‘Wheeljack’ but we don’t know what that could mean or where he is either,” Skywarp shrugs.

“I see,” Megatron puts a hand to his chin in consideration, “Perhaps I could ask the Prime.”  
“May we come with you?” Thundercracker steps forward a little, “We, uh, need to make sure he’s not dead.”

“Of course,” Megatron gives an open gesture and walks away to find Optimus Prime with the Seekers in tow.

He finds Optimus easily enough in his personal office doing paperwork who looks up and gives a slight show of surprise when he sees Megatron standing in his door bordered by two seekers. He sets down his datapad and give Megatron his full attention.

“Optimus, I am looking for Starscream,” Megatron says all too aware of the surealnous of addressing Optimus so casually in his own office.

“He hasn’t come to find you yet?” Optimus stands up and his brow scrunches with concern.

“No,” Megatron shakes his head, “Supposedly he’s with someone called ‘Wheeljack’ though. Do you know where they could be?”

“Oh,” Optimus looks more at ease at hearing this, “That means he’s in the labs. Here, I’ll show you the way.”

Megatron steps aside to let Optimus take lead down the twisting hallways until they reached a set of large doors that have been reinforced several times giving them an appearance of being practically impenetrable. He shares a look with Skywarp, glad to see that this spectacle doesn’t just bother him. Optimus puts in a short access code and the doubled up set of double doors slide away with deep hums signifying that heavy machinery was behind the movement of the doors. Optimus looks back to usher them inside and notices the pensive look on their faces.

“Ah,” Optimus puts his hands out to give a proper explanation but only manages to say, “Wheeljack is one of more outgoing scientists.”

“Right,” Megatron states and walks inside to find the lab in a state of chaos followed by Optimus and his seekers.

The lab, while incredibly haphazard in organization if it was organized at all is a testament to the ingenuity of the owner of the lab and in the awe of it, Megatron almost doesn’t notice the doors closing resolutely behind them. Optimus walks undeterred through the lab to a section further within with Megatron, Skywarp, and Thundercracker in tow all of whom are less than eager to mess with any of the prototypes strewn about. Eventually they reach the back and what Megatron sees makes him stop dead in his tracks. He watches in abject bewilderment as Starscream works alongside a grounder Autobot that must be Wheeljack on some project but that’s not what has him so amazed rather it’s the genuine smile on Starscream’s face that his him so shellshocked. Megatron can’t remember the last time Starscream had smiled like that let alone show much genuine emotion at all and yet here he is with some random scientist smiling like all was right with the world. Thundercracker nudges him and he finds himself again then turns to the blue seeker who has an expression of bewilderment that mirrors his own and he just throws his hands up in a way to say he has no clue.

“Wheeljack?” Optimus says fondly.

The scientist whirls around in surprise to see his surprise guests pulling Starscream’s attention along with him who stalls at the sight of Megatron and his trine and his smile falters.

“Optimus! What can I help you with?” Wheeljack sets a datapad face down.

“You’ve been keeping Starscream occupied I see,” Optimus smiles warmly.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Wheeljack scratches his neck nervously.

“Starscream,” Megatron walks forward to just in front of Starscream, “I’ve come to see if you’ve finished your report.”

Starscream’s features remain passive but his wings give a slight twitch letting Megtron know that he had caused him to feel at least somewhat panicked and raises a brow at him.

“My lord, I-”

“It’s my fault,” Wheeljack blurts out cutting Starscream off, “I distracted him. He hasn’t finished his report because I distracted him with one of my projects.”

“Even so…” Megatron begins as his eyes drag over to Starscream who’s looking at Wheeljack with undisguised wonder and something twists in his spark, “I will be needing that report at some point. So, Starscream I would ask that you break from working with Wheeljack long enough to complete the report.”

“Yes,” Starscream drags his gaze slowly towards Megatron, “Lord Megatron, I will do so now. I should have done it sooner.”

“No harm done,” Megatron nods to Starscream then leaves with Optimus just behind him.

Starscream breathes out heavily then gives his attention to his trine who are looking at him with shock. Before he can ask him what they find so surprising he feels a hand on his shoulder and finds a sheepish Wheeljack looking at him with a silent apology. He pats the hand on his shoulder and give him an easy smile.

“I’m really sorry I got you in trouble,” Wheeljack lowers his head in shame.

“You saved my neck just then,” Starscream tries to assure him, “I do need to get going though. I think I left the datapad with everything on the roof.”

“Right,” Wheeljack looks back up at him with a hopeful light to his optics, “After you’re done you’ll come back, right?”

Starscream chuckles and gives his hand another pat, “You’ll have a hard time keeping me away, Wheeljack.”

Wheeljack lets him go with a gentle squeeze to his shoulder and gets back to work. Starscream rushes out of the lab to get to the roof to find the discarded datapad with Skywarp and Thundercracker in hot pursuit. Once he has it in hand he scans through it and begins on breaking down his thoughts on it all until the datapad is gently tugged down to reveal the cheeky grin of Thundercracker. Starscream gives him a hard look before trying to get back to work only for the datapad to be fully pulled out of his hands.

“What are you doing?” Starscream says, annoyed.

“What are you doing?” Skywarp parrots while plopping down next to his trine brother.

“What do you mean?” Starscream huffs and rests his head in hand, elbow balanced on his bent knee sitting casually but his frame remains tense.

“Who’s this ‘Wheeljack’ guy you were working with?” Thundercracker smiles over the datapad.

“He’s an Autobot scientist that recognizes talent when he sees it,” Starscream responds flatly, opening up his hand out towards Thundercracker, “Now, give me back the datapad so I can work.”

“Why? So you can rush back to your scientist?” Skywarp taunts.

“It’s interesting work,” Starscream lowers his hand and looks away.

“He’s an interesting bot,” Thundercracker teases, “especially since he was able to make you smile like that.”

“What?”

“It’s true,” Skywarp pokes him between the wings playfully, “You were smiling like he just told you the answer to life, the universe, and everything.”

“I was having fun,” Starscream retorts then goes quiet as do his trine then he perks up, “You two are being ridiculous. Just come out with what you’re trying to say!”

“You like him,” Thundercracker says softly, “As in you really like him.”

Starscream doesn’t say anything and just holds his hand out again and, this time, Thundercracker complies in giving the datapad back to Starscream which he immediately starts working on again. Skywarp watches him carefully for a little while before leaning heavily onto Starscream making him huff in annoyance but he doesn’t say anything. Thundercracker looks out over the horizon then back at his trine as though he’s made a decision.

“Starscream,” he says and just gets a hum in response, “We’ll make this alliance work out.”

“It’s much more than an alliance, Thundercracker,” Starscream looks up at the sky thoughtfully, “It’s a complete reintegration of Autobots and Decepticons. A union.”  
Thundercracker and Skywarp share a look then carefully watch their trine brother as he work diligently for a little while.

“We’ll get him for you,” Skywarp promises quietly making Starscream jump in surprise.

“I don’t know why you think I’m so attached to Wheeljack already but I’ll let you have your delusions if it means you’ll let me work,” Starscream grumbles.

Skywarp and Thundercracker sigh together then lean heavily on their trine leader forcing him to adjust to accommodate both of them which leads to more grumbling on his part. Starscream’s features are set in a concentrated frown as his fingers move quickly over the screen and he continues to grumble as he works quickly but all of that doesn’t hide the slight, gentle, happy flutter of his wings in the eyes of his trine. Skywarp and Thundercracker smile gently in the wake of Starscream’s content EM field that had been far too rare of an occurrence during the war.

Rodimus is beginning to think that maybe this wasn’t the best idea he’s ever had. He had originally hoped to show Deadlock on of his favorite past times that he’d taken up after being stuck at the base one too many times but then Thunderclash of all mechs had joined in then a small hoard of Decepticons and Autobots decided to come and watch. Now, with an audience and The Greatest Autobot, he had to really put on a show like he always does whenever people’s eyes are on him. He had just wanted to relax with his new friend who he had never imagined gaining, someone who treats him with total equality which has been something he’s been missing since it was revealed that he had affinity for the Matrix. That’s impossible now, of course, but like hell was he going to back down now. He just had to show he knows what he’s doing, he doesn’t even have to do anything fancy. Thunderclash has never done this before so he’s already way ahead. He can do this.

“You ready?” He grins over at Deadlock who nods determinedly, staring down the slope with a focus Rodimus thinks would be more fitting on a battlefield than a snowy mountain top.

“I would like to watch you first though,” Deadlock admits not averting his focus, “So I can get an idea as to what form is appropriate.”

“Sure thing,” he says then looks over to Thunderclash who’s looking dubiously at the board he was given, “Just watch, Blunders. You’ll see there’s nothing to it.”  
Thunderclash smiles at him softly as he straightens himself out and begins his descent down the hill feeling the nip of the cool air wash over his frame adding to the exhilaration. He manages to do a few jumps off slopes he’d shaped specifically for tricks then slows and finally stops at a relatively flat part of the hill to look back up with a wide grin. Thunderclash and Deadlock start nearly simultaneously and take to the sport well and move easily down the hill. Rodimus feels his spark leap as he watches Thunderclash vere off to a slope and do one full mid-air rotation, nothing too fancy but incredibly impressive for his first time. Then in no time at all Deadlock and Thunderclash are next to him with bright smiles.

“Good job,” is all Rodimus can manage with the warring emotions in his spark.

“That was fun,” Deadlock smiles widely, “I guess sometimes those humans know what they’re doing.”

“Thank you for showing us this, Rodimus,” Thunderclash gives him a brilliant smile and he’s finding it hard to speak.

Steps come up from behind them, the crunching of snow beneath heavy steps pulls their attention and they see Grimlock making his way towards them. The heavy mech stops just in front of Rodimus and he leans his weight on a conveniently placed tree so he’s almost looming over Rodimus making Thunderclash tense and Deadlock look curiously at his comrade.

“That was smooth, little Prime,” Grimlock practically purrs, “You’re a bot of many talents. You’ve shown that many times now and I find I just can’t look away. If you’re free, I was wondering if we could find someplace private where we could… fraternize.”

Rodimus stares up at Grimlock stunned by the proposition but relaxes and gives a winning smile.

“I hate to break it to you, big guy,” he pats Grimlock on the arm and begins walking away, “but you’re not my type.”

Grimlock chuckles and sighs, “Thought I’d give it a shot.”

Deadlock and Thunderclash follow Rodimus back to the base and Deadlocks bumps into him playfully before pointedly looking at Thunderclash without turning his head. Rodimus looks at Thunderclash out of the corner of his eye and has to look back again because it almost looks like Thunderclash was glowering at Grimlock. Thunderclash never glowers at anybody.

Optimus relaxes back in his chair and turns to look at Megatron looking over the first draft of their agreement. He had to give up a few of his personal qualms with Megatron’s way of leading like how they would be addressed but overall he’s found the compromises to be more than agreeable even if it has taken the entire day to get here. He’s exhausted from all the arguing they’ve done throughout the day and knows that it will be no different tomorrow but he would rather take this a thousand times over rather than fighting a bloody battle. Megatron and he have differing opinions in conduct more than they do in any moral extent. It’s easy for them to agree that all members should have equal treatment and opportunity, that energon should be rationed as evenly as possible, and that they should be one force, one mind, one people. Megatron had made it known that he found a joint rule more than agreeable but it had taken some convincing to accept a large council of bots to act as advisors and enactors in the event they couldn’t lead for whatever reason. All of this came to agreeable conclusions and Optimus is happy for all of it but was it really necessary for him to be called “lord”?

Before he can simmer in his thoughts any longer, a rush of movement comes through the door as soon as its open completely revealing a mini of white with yellow, purple and black accents and the Decepticon insignia emblazoned on their wings.

“My lord,” the mini announces breathlessly as they kneel before Megatron and Optimus, “Er- Lords.”

“What is it, Polluxion?” Megatron’s shoulders tense and his eyes watch the mini intensely.

“It’s Overlord,” Polluxion looks up to face Megatron, the swirls beneath their purple optics blink rapidly, “He’s wiped out an entire fleet.”


	5. Malevolence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions are building and slightly less than legal action is being taken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This one's a bloody one. It has a really graphic death that may be a bit disturbing for some at the beginning but the rest of it doesn't have any sort of violence.

Red lights flash along the dimly lit halls alarms blare but beyond the alarms it is silent. There are no yells of orders to seal hull breaches, no thunder of footfall, of rushing troops, and no blare of gunfire. All is still and quiet as the alarms become nothing more than background noise. Heavy steps fall in a broken rhythm over discarded weapons, sparking wires, and fallen soldiers that some of which are barely recognizable as ever being something alive. All the bodies lay mangled and torn with missing limbs or even missing heads as thick streams of of pink energon oozes lazily from their carcasses, glistening sickeningly in the red light and Sixshot has to once again keep himself from purging. He stumbles down the hall, pushing through the corpses of his fellow Decepticons to get to the bridge while clutching his side where he had taken blaster fire and holding a gun in his left hand limply. Sixshot has to stop and lean against a support beam to rest, cursing as he feels the stopped wound start to leak energon again. Then, a clattering thoom followed by leisurely steps echoes behind him, pushing him forward. Moving as quickly as he can, he makes it to the main comms and opens a signal to Earth, rushing as the steps get louder and louder. He scrambles to put in the access codes and drops his gun so he can type better then gasps with relief when he gets through and sees the signal read green.

“This is Sixshot,” he chokes out, his voice hoarse with strain and overuse, “Calling from the outer fleet. All ships down. All officers dead. Unknown body count.”

He pauses as he flinches at the sound of the barricade hatch being torn down at the end of the hall.

“Overlord lead the attack. He’s heading to Earth. Tell Megatron. I repeat, Overlord is coming.”

He cuts off a sob as the casual footsteps sound just beyond the command center and collapses against the comm panel.

“I repeat, Overlord is coming.”

The steps echo hollowly through the command center and stop just short of Sixshot then a powerful hand wraps around his neck to lift him bodily from the ground. He’s turned around with an easy twist of the wrist and is met face-to-face with Overlord, his red eyes sparkling with mirth heavily lidded with mock lust as if on some kind of killing high. His tongue flicks out and languidly slides over his plush, full lips as he surveys Sixshot with his his eyes roaming over his body appreciatively. Sixshot shivers as he feels his eyes probing him as if seeing directly into his core, still refusing to let himself weep.

“My,” Overlord purrs as he strokes a finger down Sixshot’s chest, “aren’t you a loyal pet?”

Sixshot remains silent, flinching and shivering under Overlord’s ministrations. Then white-hot pain rips through him as Overlord tucks a finger into his injury then proceeds to tear off the front of his chassis, letting energon to flow freely over his inner components. Overlord tugs on his spark casing just enough to pull it free from its housing, making him howl in sheer agony. His torturer chuckles warmly as he pops Sixshot’s spark between his plump lips, suckling the energon that managed to coat the casing. When Sixshot manages to gather himself enough through the pain to look at Overlord, he crushes Sixshot’s spark between his teeth causing a flash of light to burst from it as Sixshot’s life is extinguished in an instant. He spits out the broken casing and tosses Sixshot's corpse to the side as if throwing away trash. His eyes scan the room and through the large observation windows that reveal the still, broken Decepticon fleet. He brushes a finger against his lower lip, pushing and playing with it as he hums as he savors the feeling of a spark burst apart against his lips.

“Yes, Megatron,” he laughs and sighs, satiated, “I’m coming for you.”

Polluxion cuts off the recorded transmission and looks up to Optimus and Megatron to await their orders. Megatron stays quiet with his arms crossed and posture straight, looking away in contemplation. Optimus leans heavily against his folded hands propped up against the desk, eyes distant and shoulders tense. The minicon shifts awkwardly before standing up and bowing before making their escape and neither of them stops them. Optimus looks up at Megatron with sympathy and concern, an unspoken statement of solidarity. Megatron takes up a chair and sits down next to Optimus, looking more tired than Optimus had seen them since working together and even, perhaps, before. Hesitantly, Optimus places a hand on Megatron’s shoulder in some small way as to offer comfort.

“I knew this was going to happen eventually,” Megatron confesses, and his hands tense up in frustration, “If only I had had the foresight to know how soon.”

“You expected him to rebel?” Optimus doesn’t move his hand and Megatron doesn’t push it off.

“Rebel?” Megatron says with bitter humor, “Optimus, your intel must be faulty. Overlord broke away a century ago with his own forces. He was… unimpressed by my leadership and bored with his missions. Not enough bloodshed and torture I suspect. He’s been a terror to the universe, unchained and unmonitored. It is a failing on my part to have let that occur.”

“You can’t control everything, Megatron,” Optimus tries to console him.

“He exists because of me!” Megatron stands up to tower over Optimus, “His power! His ability! That was all me!”

“And now we’ll take him down together,” Optimus assures him calmly, clasping his hand on Megatron’s.

Megatron sits down again, looking at Optimus dubiously but settles himself and nods.

“We will have to rush the legal side of things,” Megatron considers aloud.

“What we have will be considered final for now,” Optimus says with a kind of finality that has Megatron looking at him with surprise, “If it becomes an issue later on, we’ll change it but this takes priority. We’ll have to notify the governing forces of Earth. For now, we need to confirm troop arrangements and prepare to mobilize for combat.”

Megatron sighs, “Just when we thought we were done with fighting we’re thrown back into the fray.”

“Yes,” Optimus chuckles sourly, “but this time, at least, we’re on the same side.”

“That we are,” Megatron smiles, really smiles at Optimus making him almost recoil at the shock of it, “Lord Optimus.”

“Oh no,” Optimus groans and Megatron laughs at his dismay good-naturedly, “Please, don’t call me that.”

“You’ll need to get used to it,” Megatron pats his shoulder and stands up, “come on, we have a war to win.”

Elita marches into the commons with Arcee following behind her and a datapad in hand. Her presence makes the room go immediately silent and she takes a moment to survey the hoard of mechs, a conglomerate of Autobots and Decepticons. Eyes shift around the room as they all seem to size each other up, well aware of what was about to befall them.

“Attention,” Elita calls over the silent mass of bodies, “As you all already know, there will be a change to squad makeup. Your new assignments and posts are detailed in the shared database and -later- you will all receive messages on your huds with information on your specific assignment.”

As soon as she finishes her brief announcement the crowd erupts into an outcry of dissent, everyone outraged that they would have to change their squads and team up with their former enemies. Many of them had been with the same squad for the duration of the war and to have to change is definitely something of a shock. Elita knows this but she still can’t help rolling her eyes at their childish behaviour. This change is necessary and she will see it done.

“Anyone who objects to the new arrangement can take up with Shockwave and Prowl,” Elita yells over the cacophony and everything goes silent again in an instant.

“You’ll need to get to your posts quickly,” Arcee steps in with more tact, “We just got word that Overlord has taken down a Decepticon fleet. He’s coming to Earth so we need to be ready.”

The mentioning of Overlord’s name is enough to spur them into action, rushing for datapads and speeding towards destinations that are beginning to be set up for briefings. Elita looks over to Arcee appreciatively, happy to have someone that can get people to cooperate so easily. They walk out of the commons towards the council room and watch the newly born chaos unfold around them. Elita revels in it all, looking around at the determined faces of Decepticons and Autobots alike and feeling more at ease than she had these past few days.

“You’re smiling,” Arcee points out and Elita fixes her features back into an impassive frown, “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you enjoy the idea of heading back into the thick of it.”

“While things were getting a little dull without a few heads to smash in,” Elita rolls her shoulders, acting as if Arcee’s words hadn’t gotten to her, “I preferred the peace, however brief, than fighting a useless war.”

“And this one isn’t useless?” Arcee watches the soldiers rush by and shakes her head.

“You saw them for yourself, Arcee. They were just about ready to start a riot. Tensions -no matter what we would have done- would have broken eventually and we’d be hard-pressed to control the masses. With a common enemy they’ll have something else to fight, something to unite them. As much of a pain Overlord is going to be, I honestly think this is a blessing in disguise.”

“You might be right, Elita but that doesn’t change the fact that they’re battle-weary,” Arcee looks doubtfully up at Elita.

“Yeah, so they’ll be pissed someone stepped in and kept them from retirement,” Elita lightly shoves on Arcee’s shoulder, “We just need to make sure they remember who the enemy is.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Arcee says distantly as she falls into thought.

“Damn right I am,”Elita puffs up a little indignantly, “Now, come on, it’s the first cross-faction officer meeting, so, we can’t be late.”

Deadlock is incredibly amused by the entire situation and approves greatly of his new squad but he doesn’t dare voice this opinion for fear of upsetting Rodimus who’s already having a bad time of it. When he looked at the database he knew immediately how this was going to play and he was not disappointed. He, Rodimus, Thunderclash, and a Decepticon communications officer called Krok are all in a squad now and are, apparently, meant to be a kind of strike team which is definitely more fitting than, oh say, an infiltration team. They are all too loud for that sort of thing, well, he, Rodimus, Thunderclash are, Krok is something of an unknown element to him. Krok seems like a good enough guy albeit quiet especially when compared to the rest of their merry band whether or not he’ll be reliable is something only time will tell. Rodimus has been fuming about the set up for the past half hour after they got together for their briefing bemoaning that this was probably all Prowl’s doing as some sort of “lesson” and from what Deadlock has learned about his relationship with Prowl he wouldn’t put it past the guy. Thunderclash on the other hand has been nothing but pleasant, perhaps a little too happy to be paired up with the primeling but Deadlock wasn’t going to say anything about that either. He’s just happy to watch it all fall apart or together as the case may be and go along for the ride.

“Until we receive further instruction there’s not much else to do besides set up our bunking,” Thunderclash finishes his announcements.

“I can’t believe we actually have to live together,” Rodimus groans.

“Wasn’t that what you were already doing?” Krok looks between the two Autobots.

“I wouldn’t put it past the Autobots to give the primelling special benefits,” Deadlock teases and grins when he catches Rodimus’s annoyed glare, “Like, oh say, personal quarters. This is probably the first time he’s had to slum it with other people.”

“First of all,” Rodimus pokes Deadlock in the chest, “I told you not to call me ‘primeling’ and second of all, no, I didn’t get personal quarters. Not even the officers have personal quarters.”

Deadlock tilts his head at this, genuinely surprised that the supposed holier-than-thou Autobots actually operated in that manner then a thought strikes him.

“Wait,” he leans close to Rodimus, “Does that mean Lord Megatron and Optimus Prime will be sharing quarters?”

“Probably?” Rodimus shrugs, “They are of the same rank now so it’d make sense for them to bunk together.”

“They are the leaders of the Autobots and Decepticons,” Thunderclash puts a hand to his chin thoughtfully.

“Decepticons and Autobots,” Krok says from where he’s sitting and the three of them look at him, “If we’re calling ourselves anything like a combination of our former faction titles then it should be ‘Decepticons and Autobots’.”

“Why?” Thunderclash scrunches his brow in confusion.

“It just sounds better,” Krok puts his hands up nonchalantly.

“‘Autobots and Decepticons’ rolls off the tongue better, though,” Rodimus counters.

“No, no, it’s clunky between ‘Autobots’ and ‘and’ so ‘Decepticons and Autobots’ is better,” Krok stands up and moves his hands to accentuate his explanation.

“Are we really arguing about this?” Deadlock looks between them, baffled, “It’s not up to us anyway.”  
“Thank you,” Thunderclash sighs pinching his nose ridge.

“Rodimus is right though, ‘Autobots and Decepticons’ does sound better,” Deadlock adds.

“Seriously?” Thunderclash throws his hands out helplessly at Deadlock who only laughs.

“Traitor,” Krok says lightly and without any real malice.

“We seriously need a better name,” Rodimus shakes his head.

“Well,” Thunderclash hangs his head in defeat, “we can always bring it up with the lords later but for now we might as well pick out a room before all the best ones are taken.”

“‘Lords’?” Rodimus asks looking as though someone had struck him.

“You didn’t here?” Deadlock says cheekily, “Optimus’s new title is ‘lord’ so he’s ‘Lord Optimus’ now.”

“Now, ‘Lord Optimus Prime’ just sounds ridiculous,” Krok mutters.

“Probably why they dropped the ‘prime’ part,” Thunderclash muses before shaking his, “Wait, no, we’re not devolving into another conversation like that. This is just ridiculous. Can we please just go pick out a room?”

Rodimus gives a full body laugh at Thunderclash’s distress which seems to make The Greatest Autobot of All Time forget he was distressed in the first place. The dopey smile that spreads across his face is almost enough to make Deadlock gag at how sickly sweet it is and sees that it doesn’t go unnoticed by Krok either. They share a look, an understanding, a shared knowledge that this was going to be their life now and they would have to be the ones to reel these two idiots in. This was either going to be the most fun Deadlock’s ever had or the most tiring endeavor of his life. So, of course, it only makes sense that they make Rodimus and Thunderclash take the bottom berths.

General Yen Ngo has seen a lot of things in her life during her military career and has often worked with transformers since their war took them to Earth but it is quite the sight to see Optimus Prime and Megatron stand next to each other in her military base. A familiar resignation sits in her chest as she processes what they just told her, that an ex-Decepticon super soldier, the worst of the worst is now on a warpath to Earth with a formidable force behind him to boot. She taps her fingers lightly on the rail in front of her as she considers their options and carefully plans how she will inform the UN, inform the world. The good news that Decepticons and Autobots had declared peace had just spread across the globe like wildfire, the news being a relief to all those who heard it. Now, she was going to have to tell them that it wasn’t over, not yet, just a little more and they won’t have to worry about transformers blazing paths and etching battlefields into their home anymore. Just a little more and then they can rest. Just a little more.

“We need to set up an advance warning system,” General Ngo looks back up to them and straightens herself, “I’m aware you have space stations in orbit around Earth. Would they be viable to provide intel, detect early warning signs for Overlord’s oncoming invasion?”

“There is one station with long-range sensors under our control that might be able to give us early enough warning,” Megatron offers.

“‘Might’?” General looks at him skeptically.

“Overlord’s ships, we know, are equipped with advanced cloaking technology,” Optimus explains and General Ngo hangs her head at the news, “So, it would be difficult to detect them normally.”

“Then what makes this station viable?” General Ngo rubs her brow.

“It’s on the outskirts of the Sol System,” Megatron explains, “When Overlord is beginning to breach the system the station will be able to give us an advanced warning. The last transmission we received has given us a reasonable idea as to Overlord’s trajectory so we can have the station positioned to hopefully intercept his fleet. In the meantime, it’s best that we are as prepared as possible.”

“I’ll begin mobilizing forces,” General Ngo gestures for one of her officers to come over, “We’ll begin setting up perimeters in desirable targets and I’ll contact the leaders of the other nations.”

“Don’t you need your President’s approval to take that level of action?” Optimus asks the general as he turns to Megatron who only shrugs.

“The President is an idiot,” she grumbles as she sends the officer off with her orders, “and this is an emergency. There are certain conditions that allow me to take action. That doesn’t matter in any case though since it’s not like he cares to learn the rules much less obey them. I’ll keep my people safe whatever it takes. I’ll deal with whatever repercussions there may be after we take down Overlord.”

“At least there’s someone with common sense,” Megatron looks at her with considerable appreciation.

“It was rather confusing when he was elected,” Optimus says and General Ngo chuckles lowly.

“I assure you, you have our support, whatever it takes. Thank you for the warning.”

“Of course,” Optimus nods and takes his leave with Megatron as the general begins her own preparations.

Elita and Arcee pause for a moment when they walk into the council room to see Shockwave and Prowl looking over datapads together, making notes and talking over things in low voices. Wheeljack sits beside Starscream and they too are looking over their own datapads but for some reason they doubt that the material on the datapads actually pertain to the matter at hand: the plan of action against Overlord. Arcee twitches as she watches Bumblebee talk to Blackarachnia but restrains herself from saying anything snippy for the sake of keeping things civil and calms down more with the comforting presence of Elita’s hand on her shoulder. She looks up to see the subtle worry on her face and gives her a reassuring smile and a small nod then sits down. Ultra Magnus then walks in with Strika and Slipstream and settles into his usual spot with Strika right across from him and if that isn’t something to see. Thankfully, Optimus and Megatron come in soon after them and begin the meeting.

“We’re going to keep this short,” Optimus leans on the tables to address them, “First off, we’re going to send Cosmos with a team of humans to the Decepticon er- former Decepticon space station that’s along the Pluto orbit. This will provide us -hopefully- with some warning for when Overlord arrives. Another noteworthy topic is that we’re going to start stationing teams at human military bases to be deployed at General Ngo’s leisure. Until she communicates with the other nations we will be restricted within the limits of our agreement with the UN and within America. At least, it’s safe to say that since Megatron seems to be Overlord’s primary target he will focus his attack on wherever Megatron is. So, if we move a majority of our forces to the US where we can be more mobile then we may be able to reduce the damage from the impending conflict.”

“Then, Lord Optimus,” Strika starts and everyone visibly flinches, “are you extending command to General Ngo?”

“We are,” Megatron confirms, “Soundwave will be awaiting Cosmos at the space station to help oversee the monitoring system and, if nothing else, we can be assured that our soldiers will work well. Thanks to Prowl and Shockwave’s choices in troop assignment things have been going smoothly along with the helpful encouragement from Elita and Arcee.”

Elita actually snorts at that and Megatron wears an almost imperceptible grin. Shockwave and Prowl look at each other then nod at Megatron and he gives them a cautious glance.

“That will be all for now until the situation develops further,” Megatron waves them off and leaves.

Optimus quickly follows him out, leaving their officers to stare at the closed door their leaders just escaped from.

“I suppose we should begin preparing transports then,” Bumblebee offers helpfully.

Cosmos wait patiently at the hangar for the team he was supposed to off to a remote space station that had belonged to the Decepticons meaning that it’s theirs too. What’s more is that the infamous Decepticon third-in-command, Soundwave will be there to boss him around and that’s how it would be because Cosmos knows he’ll just be so nervous of standing in the way he won’t know what to do. He’s more used to being on solo recon missions where orders would only come in every few months so he had to rely on his own intuition to get the job done. Now he’s going to have an entire team to have to interact and communicate with and how he’s going to deal with that he just doesn’t know. Optimus undoubtedly assigned him to this mission because of his spaceworthy altmode, recon experience, and communications expertise but he’s just not a people-person. Just how the hell is he supposed to interact with Soundwave? Before he can get too much further in his train of thought three humans make their way out onto the tarmac to greet him. A Chinese woman leads the way followed by a Hispanic man and a French-looking woman all dressed in work clothes who stop in front of Cosmos. He looks down and waves.

“I’m doctor Naomi Riyu,” the woman in the lead smiles up at Cosmos, “and these are my colleagues: professor Rodney Rodriguez, a specialist in satellite communications and doctor Michelle Devereux, an astro-technician. I hope we will be of some help.”

“I’m sure you will be. Long-range communications like this can get tricky,” Cosmos says hoping he’s not saying anything wrong.

“So,” Rodney looks around the tarmac, “how are we getting there?”

“Oh!” Cosmos says then transforms in front of them, “hop on in.”

The three of them exchange looks then Dr. Riyu shrugs and boards Cosmos followed by Rodriguez and Devereux.

The trip to the space station is rather expedient although it still takes a few hours to get to the station but once they near it, Cosmos can’t help but gawk at it. The sheer size of it seems completely unnecessary along with the heavy shielding and the wicked looking energy fields that bar access to the docking bays that glow an ominous red. He sends out the code to the station and one of the gates opens to him, allowing him access to what had once been enemy territory and the surreality of it all washes over Cosmos as he lands. He sets down delicately, weary of his human passengers as the gate reseals behind him and he room re-pressurizes to accommodate their organic guests. Cosmos transforms back to root-mode once they disembark and takes a moment to take a good look around. The station itself seems unusually empty making it feel eerie as if haunted by those that had to have once occupied such a massive space. Then the sound of opening doors calls his attention and his optics land on the mech that must be Soundwave, it has to be since he matches all the pictures of him but Cosmos can’t help that the pictures had been off somehow. The mech before him isn’t the dirty, energon-stained intimidating Decepticon officer he’d seen but a tidy mech with an incredibly unassuming air to him.

“Welcome to Sigma-4,” Soundwave says finally breaking the silence, “We will be the only ones staffing the station to reduce the chance of being detected by scans looking for life signs and to reduce possible casualties in the event of an attack. If you wish to return to Earth to avoid the possibility of injury or worse the transports are open to you. If you wish to stay, please follow mean to the main comms.”

“We’re not going to back down that easily,” Rodney crosses his arms, “We have a planet to protect.”

“Very well,” Soundwave says without further argument and leaves.

They follow him, Cosmos even picks up the humans so they can all keep up with Soundwave’s fast pace. Cosmos watches Soundwave carefully and continues to wonder what kind of mech he is really.


	6. Mysticism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron and Optimus visit General Ngo at a human military base and a very important conversation is had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Midterms are finally over and I can get back to writing! But! More midterms will be happening in like two weeks and then there's finals just after that so I will get pretty busy again. Yay! College! It didn't help that this chapter fought with me the whole way. This chapter is a touch longer than the others though, so, *shrug*. I hope you're all eating well, sleeping well, staying hydrated. All that good stuff. Anyway, here it is...

“Should we have really just left them like that?” Optimus looks over his shoulder, worrying as he is wont to do and Megatron suppresses a sigh.

“There was nothing else of importance,” Megatron gives his best impression of a diplomat, “We are short on time. Even as we speak Overlord is moving in to attack so we cannot waste what time we have on trivial things like formality.”

“You may be right,” Optimus falls into step with Megatron and hands him a datapad, “but I do hope you will make more time for General Ngo when we meet with her in three hours.”

Megatron looks over the memo briefly, “Of course, this is her planet and we are her allies -at the very least- by proxy. She has invaluable information on troop movements and has the advantage of the battlefield being home terf. I also happen to know that she was key in quite a few of your advances against me.”

“Careful, Megatron, that’s starting to sound like admiration.”

“Then so be it,” Megatron rolls his eyes and fixes Optimus with a hard stare that softens somewhat when he meets Optimus face to face, unmasked, a sight that’s still jarring to him.

They continue on in what can only be called companionable silence, the two of them walking side-by-side with their attention drawn to their respective tasks. Megatron steals a look at Optimus and almost reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder as if they were old comrades and reels back at himself, a quiet unease settling over him. Optimus looks up, sensing something off about Megatron, quietly waiting for him to share his thoughts. Megatron shakes his head then looks away feeling Optimus’s concerned gaze weigh heavily on him as he admonishes himself for being so lax. This, just walking together, feels too right to the point where it’s almost unsettling, making Megatron pull into himself as if to try to block out the -of all things- comfort from Optimus’s presence. Megatron suppresses another sigh as exasperation at himself floods his processor for being so foolish to let Optimus of all mechs make him feel this way, knocked off balance by the warring ally and foe designations vying for dominance. He feels as if he’s teetering on a precarious ledge between letting Optimus in completely, a true ally and keeping him far away emotionally, mentally, physically. Everytime he reaches out for Optimus, his experience in war surfaces reminding him that Optimus could still betray him and when he tries to formulate counter measures for the blow that’s sure to come he has to remind himself that Optimus is more tied to his word than his own frame.

A hand touches his shoulder and it’s like an electric shock that rapidly disperses through his frame and he turns to Optimus who looks at him with a silent question. Megatron shifts uncomfortably as he begins to feel like Optimus is looking more into him than at him before shaking off the hand and continues on. When he reaches the main commons he then realizes that Optimus did not follow him this time so he stops to look next to him as if to confirm what he already knew finding the space next to him somehow too empty, the air too quiet. Megatron reminds himself that Optimus has things of his own to do so it only makes sense for him to leave Megatron to his brooding while he did some actual work. Megatron finally lets himself sigh and follows Optimus’s lead and gets some work of his own done.

Later, they’re on a ship to one of the numerous military bases the humans seem to have and when they land Megatron is happily surprised to find some of their newly formatted squads manning the base alongside the humans. It is some comfort to see them finally working together on a task than idly twiddling their thumbs waiting for things to cohear or disintegrate back into chaos. He spots the trine that call themselves The Coneheads alongside one of the Autobot fliers, Whirl who he recognizes from one too many encounters of the helicopter breaking through aerial defense with sheer havoc and rage alone. To have him now saluting him is almost too surreal which must be evident on Megatron’s face seeing as how the helicopter chuckles wickedly as he walks away. Megatron shrugs it off and follows Optimus into the base to meet with the General.

The base itself is settled in the middle of the desert in the American West, hidden away somewhere in the state of Nevada and has clearly gone through remodels in order to accommodate their synthetic allies. The various assault vehicles kept by the human army stand still in the middle of asphalt lots that cause a shiver to run through Megatron even now after so many years of dealing with the Earthlings. He still remembers the first time he saw them charge into battle against his fellow Decepticons swarming them and they gained ground incredibly fast as they all stared in horror at the possessed army. It was as if an army of the undead had descended upon them at the will of fleshy masters like a portent of the apocalypse. Megatron didn’t blame his soldiers for freezing up then for nothing else had ever been as shocking as seeing the machines the humans had built that are all eerily too close to alt-modes. Even he had suffered nightmares after that fateful encounter but instead of artificially made machines made of dead metal it was of his own troops that rose from the ground, charred and mangled crawling towards him as they howled blame for their deaths. It’s a haunting phenomenon that he is still looking for some kind of answer to but even now it evades him. He’s shocked from his thoughts by the sound of tiny clicking steps approaching them.

General Ngo stands before them with one of her subordinates, imposing as ever which is an impressive feat for such a small creature. She eyes them with ever-present caution, holding a calculating glare on Megatron for several long seconds then scans her eyes over to Optimus languidly once satisfied that he was going to behave himself. He can’t help but bristle at the treatment even though he knows it’s more than well deserved and he really can’t fault her for her caution. However, the look that crosses her features unsettles him as it can only mean bad news.

“I’ve spoken with the UN,” she begins, skipping all niceties which, again, is something Megatron has always appreciated about her character.

“Their verdict?” Optimus asks, eminnating unease as well.

“They don’t trust Megatron,” she says simply, without mirth, without rage. Just, stating things as they are.

“Well,” Megatron relaxes his stance, “That’s hardly surprising, frustrating, but not surprising.”

“No, unfortunately, it’s not,” Optimus seems to almost sag under his words, “So, unless we get some kind of sign of their opinions shifting we must assume that global mobilization is not an option. Did any of them say that any prior agreements about base locations changed due to the alliance?”

“All prior agreements are being sustained,” the general reassures him, “so long as they still pose no threat to states they are in.”

“One less thing to worry about I suppose,” Megatron shakes his head, wracking his mind for options, for plans.

“There’s more,” General Ngo looks at him pointedly, “It’s more than just not trusting you, they believe you may be suspect in this shift. They don’t trust or like the sudden change of heart you’ve had. I tried arguing that it wasn’t a matter of beliefs but necessity but I might as well have been talking to a brick wall. So, they will be setting up arms but not in allegiance. They’ll have guns pointed at us, at you because they’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. They’re all wondering what your latest nefarious plan is.”

“I see,” Megatron bites out, fists clenching.

“Thank you, for speaking in favor of us,” Optimus nods to the general while placing a placating hand on Megatron’s elbow, “If we cannot rely on them and we cannot expect to be able to retreat outside of our current territory then we can only focus on what we can do in the meantime.”

“In the meantime?” Megatron huffs and remains hyper-aware of Optimus’ touch, “What we can do is bolster defenses. Other than that we are sorely under-prepared. We know that Overlord has a large force of space cruisers but how many is ‘large’? We know he’s headed for Earth and what vague trajectory he’s coming from. We know he’s targeting me. Other than that? Nothing. We don’t know what to do in the meantime other than ‘be prepared’ but how can you be properly prepared if you don’t know what to prepare for?”

“I’ll talk with my fellow officers and see what we can do,” General Ngo takes a pad from her subordinate and dismisses them, “We appreciate the support you’re providing us with and we’ll do whatever we can in return. Any and all updates you can give us would be appreciated.”

“Of course,” Optimus says before his voice turns hesitant, “And your president? There are no issues with him?”  
“Are you kidding?” she huffs a bitter laugh, “He’s the easiest damn thing in all of this. A chance to show American superiority by fighting off a bunch of aliens? It’s Christmas for the guy. He won’t be an issue, believe me.”

“It is a great relief to know the matters of state are in your hands,” Megatron says and she looks to him curiously, “I know you will take care of things.”

“Yes, thank you,” she squints up at him but keeps her voice level and gestures for someone to come over, “I now have to go and deal with the aforementioned matters of state. I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Lieutenant Adebowale. He’ll show you around and inform you on the updates we’ve made.”

With that, General Ngo leaves and a middle-aged man takes her place dressed in fatigues who stands at attention in front of them, eyeing them carefully before clearing his throat and taking the platform down to ground level. Once at the bottom of the base it’s all the more clear how truly towering they are compared to the human soldiers and the familiar sensation of discomfort travels through Megatron whenever he has to confront humans. Humans are small and delicate things that can die with the wrong step or flick of a wrist that calls for a kind of conduct that puts strain on the mind and body in order to ensure that an incident does not occur. He finds himself treating them more like glass figures than a force able to take down a force of transformers at least twenty strong with just one installment. To say the least, they’re delicacy makes it difficult to perceive them as equals but he must endure, he must make an attempt for all of this to work. Optimus, seemingly sensing his thoughts, pats his shoulder as they continue on, following Lieutenant Adebowale.

“And this is the main munitions dispensary,” the lieutenant waves one arm in a wide arch as if to encompass the entire structure ending his grand tour of the base.

They had reinforced the perimeter and installed shield technology based on cybertornian technology from plans given to them by the Autobots when they had first brokered their alliance. Megatron notes that had the humans actually let the Autobots help them construct the shield generators they would have had them in months instead of having finished them only just this past year. Truly nothing can defeat the pride and stubbornness of humanity.

A bit of movement catches his attention and he looks away from the lieutenant who is now discussing ammunition stockpiles with Optimus to what appears to be some kind of recreation area. Three figures in light dress are playing what he had begrudgingly learned to be basketball which turned out to be one of Optimus’s strange obsessions when it comes to human culture. He watches in dry interest for a moment and instinctively begins analyzing their movements along the game itself like how they couldn’t possibly playing teams so some kind of free-for-all was going along with several other seemingly chaotic rules. Then somethings about the players strikes him as odd. They are relatively youthful to be soldiers and they have much smaller frames compared to the soldiers he’s seen. Then, realization strikes him.

“There are children on this base?” Megatron cuts into whatever conversation they were having causing it to die instantly.

The lieutenant looks over to the courts then back up at Megatron and shrugs.

“A lot of military families stay on bases they’re stationed at. It makes living situations easier. Kids go to a school nearby and while housing is a bit tight hear it’s nicer to have everyone together than being away for long stretches of time needlessly.”

“Megatron,” Optimus is somewhat taken aback by his reaction, “did you really never know?”

“No,” Megatron looks back at the courts and feels something icy in his spark, “I always tried to avoid cities, only attacking them when necessary. I never thought they’d keep their own offspring on the same location as their armed forces.”

“What?” the lieutenant plants his hands on his hips and levels a look at at Megatron, “You really above killing children?”

“I do not see the purpose of integrating humanity into the empire, this is true, but as I would not snuff out a spark well in Autobot territory if such a miracle occurred I would not harm the young of a species that has proven to have… potential” Megatron tries and fails to make his body language more open, less threatening but when you are good 35 meters or so taller that’s difficult.

“Right,” the lieutenant deadpans then calls over to the children, “DD! Come here for a minute.”

The games stalls and the two that had not been called watch the young girl to gauge her reaction then watch as she all but marches over to them. Her dark hair that flows freely is almost mane-like and bounces as she makes her way over, drenched in sweat from the heat and the physical exertion. She huffs and shakes her shirt to fan herself when she stops just short of the lieutenant who smiles warmly down at her.

“This is my daughter, Deborah Adebowale,” the lieutenant pats her shoulder and she glares up at them, clearly upset to have been called over for this.

“It’s very nice to meet you, I’m-,” Optimus begins but is almost instantly cutoff.

“Optimus Prime and Megadude leader of the Decepticons or whatever,” she interrupts him sourly, “I know who you are. Can I go back to playing with my friends now?”

Her father sighs and nods while pulling his hand away, letting her make her escape.

“You have a charming daughter, lieutenant,” Megatron says with mirth.

“Thank you,” Lieutenant Adebowale says then clears his throat, “Well, that’s my piece. I’ll be seeing you later I suspect.”

“Indeed.”

Optimus and Megatron take a seat against one of the perimeter walls that gives them a relatively good view of the base as a whole. They watch as soldiers do drills in the blazing desert sun, flying drills that include the Coneheads and Whirl, and weapons tests. They watch in silence, happy to have a break as they wait for General Ngo to send for them again knowing that the eight hour flight back would not be worth it just to get there to have the information having waited for them for a good six hours. As they sit and wait, without looking Megatron can feel Optimus’ attention slowly gravitate towards him but shows no sign of noticing. Optimus stretches out as he considers Megatron making the other mech glance quickly at the other still unsettled by how relaxed Optimus is around him. His pedes dig into the hard-packed sand as they stretch out of the shade letting sunlight glint off his silvery legs as a hand comes to rest atop his chassis that flares a moment to relieve tension in wiring and his other hand comes up to rest behind his head. All his movements are easy and sluggish in a behavior Megatron had never seen from Optimus before. It all, somehow, made him tense making him want to curl up on himself but he’d never show such weakness around Optimus, not even now.

“You keep managing to surprise me, Megatron,” Optimus muses, voice heavy with exhaustion.

“Oh?” Megatron retorts, curious as to what Optimus is getting at.

“The agreement to peace, the trust of permitting your troops to stay at my base, your stance on the possibility of harming their children.”

“Did you really believe me to be so monstrous as to be willing to sacrifice the young of any species?” Megatron looks at Optimus fully, sneering in insult.

“‘Any species’... Would you deign the harm of the young of a species you deemed lacking in potential?”

“No, Optimus,” Megatron pinches his nasal ridge, “No, I would not harm the young of any species. No matter how primitive. ‘Young’ implies they have not lived long enough to fully grasp what is happening around them, to fully know life.”

“Young innately have potential,” Optimus deciphers from Megatron’s rambling.

“Yes.”

“Tell me something, Megatron,” Optimus sits up and their shoulders bump.

“What do you wish to know?” Megatron grumbles.

“Do you think this could have happened earlier or do you think this could have only ever have happened now?”

“That’s a rather existential question that deals in subjects such as destiny, moral juxtaposition, and the history of the war itself.”

“That’s a very long-winded way of saying ‘I don’t know’.”

“Yes, well,” Megatron looks back at the base, “I’ve never truly mastered the skill of being concise.”

“No,” Optimus hums, “Not if your speeches are anything to go by.”

“Well now that was just rude,” Megatron chuckles and something warm sinks it way into his core and settles there.

“Megatron and Optimus Prime!” a soldier rushes towards them, kicking up sand as they run towards the mechs then skids to a stop in front of them, “There’s been a complication. There are what appears to be Decepticon soldiers currently attacking San Diego.”

They’re in an missions center in moments in time for the live feed to connect to the screens on the whiles, bombarding them with the noise of screams, explosions, gunfire, and the crumbling of concrete. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason behind the attacks of the band of Decepticons beyond striking terror into the hearts of the humans that reside there. The soldiers called in to the fray clearly tried to make a choke point at an intersection but when they find that the way is blocked they simply turn their attentions towards an office building and send a missile through it, causing it to fall with the shrieks of twisting metal and shattering glass. They then climb over it, batting away the assault of the ground forces as if shooing away pesky flies. Megatron watches in horror, a terrible dread overtaking him as he recognizes the faces of the assailants and knows that this war was soon to be fought on two sides, a battle they may not be able to win. A flurry of motion erupts around him as Optimus calls off orders and one of their new squads is sent in consisting of names like Cliffjumper, Blurr, Tailgate, Cyclonus, and Lockdown. The Decepticon names alongside the Autobot ones make him stall in his clouded state, all of his mental capacity taken up by shock and measures they need to take in order to take down yet another enemy. A hand clasps his shoulder and he’s brought back to reality with Optimus face to face with him.

“Who are they?” Optimus speaks quietly yet audibly through the din of shouts from their human allies.

“The DJD, the Decepticon Justice Division,” Megatron puts a hand to his head to steady himself, “A last resort measure and something of a self-policing system for the Decepticon army. They’re lead by Tarn, a mech with a tank alt-mode who is fiercely loyal to the Decepticon cause, to me. Why he’s doing this…”

“You don’t know.”

“No,” Megatron looks him in the eye and watches Optimus flinch in surprise before he can ask he’s back to work.

“Lend me their files,” Optimus says while scrolling through a datapad, “We need to know all we can so we can take them out.”

“Of course,” Megatron’s mind clears and he reaches over Optimus’ arm to take him directly to the files he needs.

It takes several hours to stave of the siege laid upon San Diego by the DJD but, eventually, they manage in taking them down and even capturing one of the members but they’re still out there, ready to strike again. Megatron goes to a secluded area after the fighting is over and done with, his struts finally relaxing after being tensed for hours as he desperately wanted to go to the scene himself to fight off the attack. With each blow he saw he could feel himself getting ready for a fight, everything about him that had become a soldier coming to life. Heat had even built up in his canon, warming up so it would be ready to fire but it never was. He couldn’t have gone charging into battle to take out the DJD himself as anger rose within him at his blindness, his foolishness for not seeing the signs, for not realizing sooner that they would retaliate. He’s running hot and needs to cool down, he can’t deal with anyone right now as the shame of it all weighs on him. How could he have been so stupid?

A mostly empty warehouse open to the air stands alone along the horizon only lit by the light of the full moon and here is where he decides to take his temporary refuge, somewhere to be alone with his thoughts. He eases himself on to a pile of crates to take some strain off of his pedes as he lets the cool desert night air wash over him to cool his systems. Flashes of those who he had believed unable to betray him flood his mind when he shuts his eyes and the echoes of explosions and terrible cries flood his ears. He had failed them. Never would he have thought he could feel such sorrow over humans losing their lives like this and yet here he is. His spark feels hot and heavy, almost to the point of being unbearable and yet he endures as he has throughout this war only now it feels fresher than it ever has before, this pain. He had given them his word, promised a time of peace, of a better future just as he had once oh so long ago. Millions of years have gone by and he is still fighting everyone and everything for land, for resources, for hope, for peace. Through it all he has been a gladiator, a miner, and a warlord, each time taking on the role with ease as if he were always meant to fill those spots, like some kind of destiny had been calling him. Did he really fill those positions as well as he believed? What did he do wrong?

The crunching of sand draws him away from his thoughts and he looks up to find Optimus, a specter in the moonlight. He stands to meet him and waits for some grandiose speech of living to fight another day or the sacrifice that it takes to achieve peace but it never comes. Optimus just silently walks to him and stands in front of him resolutely with a firm stance as easily as breathing reminding Megatron of how long they both have been leaders of factions where they’ve needed to be symbols of something more. There’s something far too vivid about this scenario, as if they have always been meant to come here on this day, at this time, in this warehouse. Megatron has to tilt his head down slightly to meet Optimus’ eyes that are as bright as ever albeit now they’re not blazing with fury as they had when they had fought against one another but with determination and Megatron decides he likes this look far more.

“What happened today, Megatron?” Optimus rumbles out but not to blame him, but in concern for his well being which is yet another oddity he’s not used to.

“I’m losing control, Optimus,” Megatron gasps out then puts a hand over his mouth as if to hide the desperation in his voice, “The DJD were some of my most loyal soldiers and now they’ve declared me their enemy. They are claiming that I have lost my way. Through my ignorance of the ideologies of some of my top soldiers nearly an entire human city was leveled!”

“There is no way to predict what everyone may or will do,” Optimus places his hands on Megatron’s shoulders and the touch feels as though it burns, “You are not to blame for the decisions of a few.”

“I lifted them up and gave them strength beyond imagining, turning them into living weapons. They are my responsibility. I should have kept a closer eye on them, should have known they would have perceived this as a betrayal. I filled their heads with rhetoric of a higher cause that they could pursue faithfully and you and all your Autobots have been the symbol of the major threat to that noble cause,” Megatron breaths in as an attempt to cool himself down before continuing, “To have joined with you… They must have seen that as me abandoning that cause so they decided to take measures to remind me of this or to demean my power. Either way, this is my fault, Optimus.”

“Then we shall fix it, together.”

“You’re not listening!”

Optimus sighs, steadying himself and fixes Megatron with a look that’s so soft that it nearly knocks the warlord off balance, “Then enlighten me. What is the real problem here? Do you regret the peace we are trying to create?”

“Regret it?” Megatron shakes his head as he feels something within him begin to break, “No, no, I can’t regret it.”

“‘Can’t’ or ‘don’t’?” Optimus asks quietly, voice quivering with something like pain.

“I don’t!” Megatron shouts suddenly but Optimus doesn’t so much as flinch, “I don’t regret it. I will never regret it.”

“Then what is the problem?”

“I am!” Megatron begins to shakes as his words come out in soft bursts, “I am the problem. For millennia and millennia I have led my soldiers under the premise of fighting for a great and noble cause. What is so great and noble about what we have done? I am unworthy of calling myself a warlord but I have been as every bit as brutal as a warlord should be. Brutality. That’s all I know anymore.”

“There is something beyond all of this. There will be a time where we won’t need to fight, where we won’t need to constantly look over our shoulders waiting for our next enemy.”

Megatron grasps at the hands on his shoulders like a lifeline, his entire being going weak beneath his words, almost humbled. Feeling safe but far too exposed all at once in front of his once greatest enemy.

“You sound so certain,” Megatron whispers.

“I am,” Optimus speaks clearer now, voice filled with bravato, “As I have faith in our soldiers, in this alliance, in you. Plus, Primus’s faith in us is always reassuring.”

Megatron feels something shift in him and rage flashes through him wildly and too quick to be caught by even himself, he rips Optimus’ hands off his shoulders and slams him against the wall. Effectively pinning Optimus by the hands, he stares down into cool, calm eyes that only make his ire rise.

“Primus! The belief in that tyrannical fantasy is a part of what led us to fighting our war in the first place! I will never allow myself to be warped into believing in the story used by the government of old used as a tool against the common mech to keep them complacent.”

“You see the Primus that led our people astray, the one that was used to keep mechs from dreaming of something for more for themselves. You are right to be angry with them, with their portrayal of Primus,” as Optimus speaks Megatron’s hands loosen so that instead of pinning Optimus they’re just holding his hands there, “We have a chance to rewrite the story of Primus. Many mechs still believe in him, they still keep with the faith. We can’t rid them of a tool they use to keep them going when faced with the darkest times. We can, however, tell them that Primus would never want for them to be bound by their form. We can tell them the truth that they are more than their frames, their alt-modes and what makes them truly worthy is who they are, their dreams and aspirations.”

“You wish to rebuild Cybertron with me,” Megatron says with no small amount of amazement.

“I don’t know what I could have said or done to imply otherwise.”

“It’s that… It’s difficult to believe.”

Optimus smiles up at him and gently pulls their hands from the wall and down between them before letting go of Megatron’s hands.

“I understand that,” Optimus laughs softly, “It’s hard for me to believe we actually got here to this point sometimes as well.”

“I am sorry for reacting so harshly,” Megatron says quietly, averting his eyes, “I still struggle with not seeing you as my enemy. I know you’re not. I know you’re not but I still look for an attack. I still wait for you to fight with me.”

“All we have ever done is fight,” Optimus sighs, “I don’t blame you for feeling that way.”

“And how can you reach for me so easily? Without fear?” Megatron looks back at him, desperation back in his voice.

Optimus looks at him carefully, focus darting from eye to eyes as he looks for something. Then a hand is on Megatron’s chest making him flinch and Optimus recoils as if stung.

“Megatron, when was the last you’ve let anyone touch you? When was the last you’ve touched someone that wasn’t for the purpose of fighting?”

“You’ve been rather frequent in your friendly gestures,” Megatron murmurs accusingly but gives no further answer.

“Megatron,” and they way Optimus says his name is just filled with so much hurt, empathy, and compassion that he feels himself reeling back from it.

“Optimus… I will be alright. I haven’t had anyone that I have been close to for some time but I will be alright,” Megatron lifts a hand slowly and nearly pulls it back but manages to settle it on Optimus’ shoulder, “You needn’t worry about me.”

“This new enemy, The DJD, we will defeat them together,” Optimus puts a hand atop Megatron’s and his words seem to ache, “We will defeat them and every other enemy that comes for us together. You are not alone.”

“It’s still my fault. I deserve…”

“How can you do anything about the mistakes of the past if you are not there to do anything about it?”

Megatron looks away and doesn’t say anything.

Optimus struggles for words before saying, “There is no precedent for what any of us deserve at this point. We have all hurt each other. We have all killed. Now, we must makes things right. As we have suffered the weight of leadership through the war we must suffer the weight leadership through this reconstruction. If we abandon it now then we can’t claim we ever meant to do right in the first place but so long as we make the effort to try to do good then so long as we work towards that goal of a better future we can find retribution. Punishment only makes people feel better about having done wrong because they were punished so that makes it right. It doesn’t fix anything.”

“Then, Optimus, I will endeavor, no matter what, to make things right with you.”

“Thank you, Megatron,” Optimus lets his hand fall away and turns to look at the base, “We should head back before we’re missed.”

“You go ahead,” Megatron pulls his hand away, “I need just a moment longer to calm myself then I’ll join you.”

Optimus nods, smiling up at him and walks away back to the base, his plating shining in the moonlight. Megatron watches him go until he finally disappears back inside then lets himself fall to his knees, off balance and drained from his encounter with Optimus as his hands come to hide his face. As he kneels there, a terrible revelation overcomes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative Chapter Title: Megatron's Very Bad Not So Good Day


	7. What You Mean To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The DJD attack San Diego and something else begins to brew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a doozy

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He’s the fastest Cybertronian that was ever forged, he can outrun anything, it even feels like he can outrun time itself. Now he’s motionless, caught under the smooth voice of none other than Tarn, leader of the DJD. Blurr’s spark feels tight within his chest as he’s forced to his knees by the tenor of the voice that has him in a snare, his joints won’t respond in any other way no matter how he may scream at himself to move, to break free. As he struggles with this inner turmoil, Tarn steps up to him casually, his eyes cast in a leer upon his frame, savoring the fear contorting Blurr’s face. Tarn drags his gaze over the blue bot sending shivers to coarse through him, drinking in the sight as though his beaten and broken frame were a piece of exquisite art or the finest high grade all the while keeping Blurr in place with gentle words almost as though he were lulling, seducing Blurr’s frame to obey him. A terrible, purple, talon-like digit finds its way beneath Blurr’s chin gently in parody of a seduction making Blurr grind his denta harshly, one of the few things he still seemed to be in control of.

“Fodder,” Tarn rumbles in sick humor, “An appetizer, really. A small taste for what’s to come.”

Tarn slowly drags his finger slowly over the bottom of Blurr’s chin, feeling the soft protoform there along with the soft grooves of finer mechanisms for finite motor control, an almost indulgent touch.

“How easily the Autobots subjugate themselves to Megatron the moment he offers even a shred of weakness,” Tarn spits out the last word like a curse, “He even believes this charade himself. How quaint? How foolish?”

Tarn hums as he considers his prey and Blurr can feel his spark pulse erradictly and rapidly signaling the beginning of the end.

“No matter,” Tarn sighs, “I will show him the error of his ways and we may return to the glorious Decepticon cause.”

With that, Tarn raises his hand from Blurr’s face and up in preparation of a strike. Blurr shuts off his optics in preparation of the fatal blow, cursing every deity he can think of for letting him die like this. A beat passes, tension snaps in the air like a taught cord as silence takes them. The beginnings of shifting pistons and metal sliding along metal meets Blurr’s audials, signaling movement and making him flinch in anticipation of the blow. Then a sound like grinding gears rings out, harsh and cold followed by a terrible screech ripped from Tarn and Blurr turns on his optics reflexively to see what stalled his untimely demise. A sword now protrudes from Tarn’s chest creating a terrible gash that would have been fatal had it been any other mech. The blade itself looks wicked sharp albeit with scuffs and nicks from use while slick with fresh energon partially from Tarn and from earlier in battle. Blurr immediately recognizes it as Cyclonus’s blade and immediately feels a rush of relief, something he will never admit aloud to anyone for as long as he remains functioning. With the cry of pain from Tarn, he can also feels his influence lift from his frame like a veil and without another moment’s hesitation, he rushes away.

Cyclonus pulls his blade away, his free hand clutching a leaking wound in his side but from his eyes you’d never guess he was in pain or wounded at all. Tarn turns to him sluggishly, the shock from the attack and the gash in his chest letting energon fall freely down his form makes him reel in on himself. Enraged, Tarn lashes out at Cyclonus who blocks but only barely his own injuries taking their toll making it so he still takes most of the force of the blow letting the aftershock rock through his body which puts him stumble off balance. Tarn tries to take the opening but Cyclonus is too fast for him and dodges out of the way before cutting a deep gash into his side. A pause overtakes the fight as they stop to watch each other waiting for the other’s next move, venting hard and leaking copious amounts of energon. A movement behind Tarn catches Cyclonus’s attention and half watches as other members of the DJD shambles up over rubble and the dead. Dread washes over Cyclonus as he stands his ground determinedly, hope of escape or victory escaping him.

A rush of wind cools his frame as Blurr rushes past him to pounce on to Kaon and just as Cyclonus is about to curse him for his foolishness a call to action sounds from behind him and a squad of mechs come up to aid Blurr. The only one he can make out is the Prime’s disciple, Rodimus but is incredibly grateful to have anyone come to their aid. Newly invigorated, Cyclonus takes advantage of Tarn’s moment of confusion and drives his blade through his shoulder, missing his true mark due to his exhaustion but he’ll take it. Tarn roars in pain and anger and tries to take ahold of Cyclonus, seemingly too enraged to attempt to ensnare him with his voice. Cyclonus ducks out of the way and lands a lucky blow on one of Tarn’s support struts in his legs making him topple to the ground rendered immobile. Cyclonus shuffles to face Tarn who tries but fails to stand, cursing all the while.

“How dare he leave me?!” Tarn screeches as his body continues to fail him, “How dare he choose Optimus Prime over me, his most loyal, his most devoted?! I’m going to tear out Optimus Prime’s spark and make him watch! Megatron belongs to me!”

“You are a misguided fool,” Cyclonus says before freeing Tarn’s head from his body with an even stroke of his sword.

Cyclonus falls to his knees as the last of his energy leaves him and all he can do is look on as his allies fight the remainder of the DJD. A shock spreads through his systems attempting to get him to fight more out of surprise than anything as a soft touch falls on his side. He calms when he sees the minibot that was assigned to his squad, Tailgate who happens to be opening a medkit undeterred by the fight going on mere meters away. Steady, practiced hands take to his frame and he finds that all he can do is watch.

Thunderclash had been uneasy about this entire plan of Rodimus’s from the start but he couldn’t deny that someone had been needed here. Watching Blurr fight with all he has left strikes him at his very spark as he sees the desperation and the exhaustion that has overtaken his ally. What’s more, Cyclonus, a Decepticon had saved Blurr even though he looked even worse causing a reluctant respect to form for Decepticon resilience. Now, he’s face to face with Tesaurus, a mech that up until now he had only ever heard about and all of it, he now realizes, was true. The Decepticon’s devastating strength is aided by the sheer fear the whirring blades within his chassis invokes making him reluctant to strike near what would normally be vital points. Even with his attempts to be careful he has earned several wounds on his hands and arms. He would never have been able to take on the behemoth alone so, thankfully, their own Decepticon, Deadlock is right there beside him wielding his swords in a dangerous display. In a moment of inspiration from his unlikely ally he rushes towards Tesaurus and brings his hands to meet the Decepticon’s locking them together in a battle of strength. He looks over to Deadlock, paused in surprise then when he meets Thunderclash’s gaze he nods.

In a movement too fast for Thunderclash to follow, Deadlock crosses his swords into the chasm of swirling blades in Tesaurus’ chest before quickly cutting through. A terrible sound of shredding metal erupts for a moment as Deadlock’s blades pass through the spinning blades before breaching through the sides and with a wrenching of metal the swords pass through effectively splitting the behemoth in half. Then, just like that, Tesaurus falls to the ground, dead and graying. They turn from the corpse just in time to see Vos coming up from behind Rodimus as he takes on Helex of all mechs. Deadlock reacts and moves faster than Thunderclash and comes between Vos and Rodimus sloppily, allowing Vos the upper hand and the DJD member begins tearing into his new prey. Rodimus notices the shift in the fight and cries out and in his distracted state, Helex comes upon him forcing his attention back to the fight once more. Thunderclash makes it to the clashing mechs and tears Vos from Deadlock before crushing the small mech between his hands, crushing the Decepticon’s spark chamber, killing him instantly.

After looking for a moment, stunned at his own display of strength he goes to Deadlock’s side and what he sees almost makes him purge. Vos had torn all the way down to his spark casing that even bares some scratches and an old, long-healed wound. Other mechanisms within his chest are all shredded to unrecognizable states, leaking energon and coolant all over his internals. Deadlock gurgles as energon fills his throat while Thunderclash begins stabilizing him as best as he can, tuning out the fight around him even as worry for Rodimus grips his spark. He barely notices it when another bare of servos joins in the mix, handing him supplies to stop the flow of energon while working on soldering some of the wiring back together. When Deadlock’s spark finally calms and he isn’t losing energon anymore, Thunderclash looks over to find a white minibot working tirelessly on keeping Deadlock alive. Thunderclash takes a moment to wonder just how in the world he had gotten here before his attention is brought back to Rodimus.

Blurr collapses just feet away from his allies now sporting more wounds and looking too drained to even stand and the minibot begins tending to him. He looks over to Thunderclash who looks absolutely dumbstruck while not moving so much as a suspension cable. Confused, Blurr follows his gaze and lets his mouth fall open when his eyes land on the spectacle before him. Molten metal seeps from Helex onto the ground, himself, and Rodimus who currently has his foot on Helex’s head pinning him firmly to the ground. Rodimus has dug his way beneath one end of the chamber in Helex’s chest and is slowly tearing it free making the Decepticon scream in agony. Then, something gives and the chamber bursts from Helex’s chest causing hot, liquid metal to rain down on them. Without hesitation, Rodimus then brings his foot down on to his exposed spark, snuffing out Helex’s life. Once sure his foe is really dead he turns and walks towards his allies while flicking away slowly cooling globs of metal as though they were nothing more than a nuisance and, to Rodimus, perhaps they are.

Thunderclash watches him in awe. The smelted metal causing Rodimus to all but glow with a kind of radiance saved for the depictions of the Primes of old. A hard look has taken over his features making his optics smolder with a determination Thunderclash has never seen from him before. Power and confidence radiates from him as he walks towards them, beaming out in a way that seems almost divine. Thunderclash feels his spark swell within him.

“How is he?” Rodimus’s carefully even voice rocks him out of his stupor.

“Stable,” Thunderclash replies, unable to manage much more than a flat tone as he continues to stare, “but we need to get him to a medic and soon.”

Rodimus nods and turns to Blurr, “Where’s the rest of your squad?”

“We seperated due South from here,” Blurr speaks numbly and uncharacteristically slow, “I haven’t heard from Cliffjumper or Lockdown since.”

“Can you take us to where you last saw them?”

Blurr nods and he and Thunderclash follow.

What they find isn’t good. They first come upon what at first just seemed to be a wrecked car but upon further inspection reveals itself to be the mangled corpse of Lockdown. A few meters further they find Cliffjumper face down in the streets and they all work together to turn him over and flinch at the deep wounds they find littering his body. Rodimus kneels down and looks him over, doubt and exhaustion weighing on his face. After a few moments however, Cliffjumper begins coughing and hacking, spitting up some energon but all the same proving that he is still, undoubtedly, alive.

“It’s okay,” Rodimus whispers, “You’re safe now. We’re going to get you out of here.”

Megatron knew from the moment Optimus had come to retrieve him that he is absolutely enraged. The answer to what has made him so angry comes in the form of his very own heir, Rodimus who sits in the small meeting room with his arms crossed defiantly, splatters of cooled metal covering his frame. The concept of Rodimus being able to survive such a thing is astonishing to Megatron and when he read the report he almost couldn’t believe it, partially due to the improbability of it but also the seemingly religious experience it gave one of his comrades. He had to ask Optimus if it was true and had been sufficiently impressed by the young mech when it was confirmed that, yes, Rodimus took hundreds of gallons of molten metal as though it were nothing.

Optimus sits down across from Rodimus and Megatron joins them, looking between the two as they both throw stormy looks at each other. Megatron sighs as he accepts that this is not going to be a calm discussion.

“You shouldn’t have just rushed in!” Optimus shouts, getting right to the point, “You had your orders!”

“People would have died!” Rodimus yells back while slamming his hands down on the table, “We saved them! And now we even have one less enemy to worry about!”

Megatron pinches the bridge of his nose and settles in.

“You are too impulsive Rodimus!” Optimus continues and cuts off Megatron before he can interject, “You could have died!”

“We’re at war! People die! I’m no more important than any other soldier. Just because I might be Prime one day means nothing!”

“There’s more to it than that and you know it! You have a duty as an officer! You have a sacred duty-”

“There’s nothing sacred about being a Prime! You’re just a leader, a symbol of hope, and at the end of the day you’re just a mech!”

“You’re too important for me to lose Rodimus!”

Rodimus stands up absolutely livid and practically spits in Optimus’ face, “Keeping me around so you don’t have to feel guilty about dying isn’t fair! What about me? What will I do if you die!?”  
With that, Rodimus leaves the room, slamming the door behind him and leaving Megatron and Optimus alone in the quiet.

Megatron looks from the door to Optimus to find him upset but not as angry as he had been. With yet another sigh he puts a hand on Optimus’s arm to bring the Prime’s attention to him.

“That’s not the first time you’ve had that argument,” it’s not a question but a statement, Megatron all to familiar with these things to have any doubt.

“No,” Optimus replies quietly, “No, we’ve had that argument many times.”

Megatron looks at the table and away from the sullen Prime who seems so vulnerable now, a phenomena he’s finding he doesn’t like. To see Optimus so hurt bothers him in ways he doesn’t like.

“If it troubles him so,” Megatron recommends, turning to the Prime, “Why not relieve him of the Primacy?”

“Because it’s not that simple,” Optimus sighs as he drags his hands over his face, “and believe me, I’ve tried.”

“I have noticed since I first learned of him that you are more protective of him than you are of most,” Megatron admits, drawing Optimus’s full attention, “I have, however, known you to have any strong desire to uphold the Primacy much beyond keeping the title yourself.”

“The Primacy is not much of a concern for me,” Optimus agrees.

“Then why put so much pressure on Rodimus? Why work so hard to ensure he survives to take your place? Why not treat him like any other soldier?”

“It…” Optimus starts but falters and after a bit of deliberation takes of his battlemask, “When he was brought to me by the Nyonian sages he was no more than fifty stellar cycles. He was so small. As he got older he became a wide-eyed youngling awestruck by me and honored to have been chosen by Primus. What choice did I have? Refuse him and allow him to live in shame at being rejected by the Primacy? To live forever with that embarrassment? Or seal his fate. At fifty stellar cycles his entire future had been decided and from then on I’ve had to ask the impossible of him to which he’s risen to the occasion every time. He’s lost his home, his people, and any youth he might have had. He didn’t have any choice in the matter and no one would would allow him to even try any other path but the Primacy. Eventually, as time passed people began to doubt if he could take it on, if it was physically possible. He was finally able to try other careers, other possible futures. 

But, your forces got that lucky hit on me bringing me close to death and he had to use the Matrix to prevent a Decepticon victory. From then on there was no question, no doubt of his legitimacy. Now, he can only ever be ‘Rodimus Prime’ and he can never be that unless I die. I’ve never wanted this future for him. He is alone, alone as I am, isolated by the reverence towards the Primacy. If there has ever been anything I have always completely agreed with you on, it is the sheer severity of worship of the Primes is too much.

Is it so wrong that I try to protect him, keep him safe whenever I can?”

“You mentored him ever since he was fifty cycles?” Megatron asks, off balance from how open Optimus is being with him.

“I did.”

“Then it is no wonder he is upset whenever you put yourself in dangerous situations,” Megatron shrugs when Optimus gives him an incredulous look, “You’re just as important to him, Optimus. He wants you to know this doesn’t have to be just your burden. And, even now, I think he may be trying to prove himself to you as that wide-eyed youngling. He may believe himself to even be a burden on you.”

“He isn’t!” Optimus insists suddenly distressed, “He’s never been a burden.”

“If you really want to fix this, Optimus. You need to talk to him.”

Optimus goes quiet at that as though unsure of himself or what to say to that. Megatron feels that same unpleasant sensation of seeing his longtime enemy so vulnerable. In a lapse of control, Megatron reaches out and puts his hand atop of Optimus’s and catches the surprised look it earns him. Without the mask, Optimus is incredibly expressive and all too easy to read which only adds to the openness that has suddenly formed between them, knocking Megatron off balance.

“And you are not alone, Optimus,” he says without knowing what force drives him to say something so soft, so gentle.  
Optimus, to his surprise, smiles gratefully at him but it is still laced with a lingering sadness from his issues with Rodimus. It makes him reach out towards Optimus, unsure of what he intends to do and watches as the smile falls into a look of confusion. Megatron continues, driven by some sort of need to do something, anything. Then the door opens and he snaps back on to himself as if caught trying to steal something.

“Uh, Lord Megatron?” Polluxion stands at the door awkwardly.

“Yes, Polluxion,” he manages to steady his voice.

“You’re needed in the council chamber.”

“Very well,” Megatron stands and leaves, brushing past the confused minicon.

“Is he okay?” Polluxion asks an equally confused Optimus who only shrugs.

His head feels fuzzy as he begins to sit up in what he discovers to be a medical berth and looks around to find another mech, bulky and red on another berth on the other side of the large medbay. A hand comes to rest on his shoulder that gently pushes him back down on to the berth. When he looks for the owner he finds a grouchy looking medic with a deep set frown that doesn’t really reach his optics. The medic continues to gently go over his injuries, his hands light and precise as he checks over Deadlock’s chest. Deadlock watches him as he works, his mind slow and heavy from the sedatives coursing through his systems.

“You took quite the thrashing when you threw yourself in front of that crazed mech,” the medic says, voice harsh and needling, “The next time you get the bright idea of putting yourself in the line of fire you should consider not just opening yourself up for them to use you as their personal scratch toy.”

“Ha,” Deadlock let’s out hoarsely, “As if you could have done better, Medic.”

He gives Deadlock a withering look and says, “That’s Chief Medical Officer, Ratchet to you soldier.”

“Then I’m Lieutenant Deadlock,” he gives Ratchet his best wicked smirk to which he only rolls his eyes.

“If you think you can intimidate an old mech like me while on my own medical berth after I just rearranged your internals for you then you must have a few screws loose that I missed,” Ratchet snarks as he continues going over his work.

“I don’t think so, Ratch,” Deadlock revels in the look that earns him, “if you can patch me up like you did, I’m sure you’re the best of the best. I don’t think you could ever make a mistake like that.”

“Right,” is all he says to that.

After he’s satisfied that nothing had pulled loose or opened back up he pulls away and looks back at Deadlock, “You’re going to be out of commission for at least a week, until then you are to stay in berth and take your fuel when I tell you, understood?”

“Sure thing,” Deadlock grins up at him, “I’m in your very capable, skilled hands.”

With an arched brow, Ratchet turns and leaves Deadlock alone who slowly but surely drifts back to sleep.

The next time he wakes up he’s met with a newly armored, painted, and polished Rodimus smiling down at him with a mix of relief and joy at seeing him awake. Rodimus helps him into a sitting position and he realizes his head feel much clearer than last time he was awake. The memory of what he said floods back to him and he covers his face with one hand.

“Hey, you feeling okay?” Rodimus broaches softly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Deadlock looks at him, hand sliding down his face as the realization hits him fully.

“I think I flirted with the medic,” he says.

Rodimus blinks slowly at him, face impassive before breaking into a huge grin and laughing.

“You flirted with the, Hatchet? And lived to tell about it?” Rodimus laughs out, “Oh, man I would’ve loved to have seen that.”

“The Hatchet?”

“Yeah,” Rodimus says calming down now, “it was a nickname given to him because of his stellar bedside manner.”

“He is a bit rough around the edges,” Deadlock muses, thinking back on his interaction with the CMO.

When he looks back at Rodimus he has a disbelieving look on his face that makes Deadlock feel suddenly self conscious.

“What?”

“You’re into him!” Rodimus says gleefully.

“I- I barely know him!” Deadlock argues.

“Do you want to?”

“Do I want to what?”

“Know him,” Rodimus says simply.

“Rodimus,” another voice cuts in and they both look over to see Ratchet with his arms crossed, “Are you bothering my patient?”

“No, teasing maybe but not bothering,” Rodimus shrugs.

“Whatever it is you’re doing isn’t important now,” Ratchet walks up and makes Deadlock lay back down, “Deadlock needs to rest which means you need to leave.”

“Alright, alright,” Rodimus puts his hands placatingly and moves to start leaving then looks over to Deadlock, “Don’t go trying to get our best medic to defect just so you can date him alright?”

“What-” Deadlock begins but is cut off by Ratchet.

“Out, Rodimus.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Rodimus says over his shoulder as he leaves and just like that they’re alone.

Deadlock looks up Ratchet who is taking out his medical energon lines meaning he’ll be refueling normally now and just watches him hyper aware of every touch the medic makes. Nerves rise in his throat and he finds himself without anything to say.

“What?” Ratchet asks without looking at him, gruff as ever, “None of the same snark from yesterday?”

Deadlock looks away without saying anything.

He hears the medic sigh then, “I’ll be back in hour to check up on you. Do you need anything?”

Deadlock looks at him and can’t think of anything he needs or wants but feels like he should say something. He doesn’t like how stupid he’s being around this medic. He decides to say something, just anything and what winds up tumbling out is:

“You?”

Ratchet rolls his and scoffs before making his way out.

Alone now, Deadlock stares at the ceiling, cursing every force that thought it would be funny to make him say that.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He’s pinned beneath a mech he’d call enemy if it wasn’t for the ridiculous peace that had put him in this position, this position that let him make an embarrassing mistake in an attempt to prove his superior intellect. Now he’s on the floor with Wheeljack above him who had so graciously pushed him out of the way of the explosion he had just made. How could he have gotten it so wrong? Now, he’s sure that Wheeljack will simply lord it over his head for the remaining duration of this fragile peace. Animosity he could have handled, he’s used to that, he’s Starscream so being hated comes with the territory. He can’t handle this genuineness, this easy-going inventing and planning that feels too easy. Good things never last in his life and this was turning into something he never wanted to be taken away which is the most dangerous thing he could let himself feel. He wants to keep this. Starscream wants Wheeljack’s approval for some reason he refuses to explain to himself which is simply embarrassing in its own right. This ridiculous Autobot scientist has managed to get under his plating somehow, gotten Starscream to like him. What he hates is that he truly wants Wheeljack to like him which, knowing his own track record, isn’t an easy thing.

In this position, beneath Wheeljack who’s starting to get up now, it’s so much worse. Starscream is just too aware of everything that’s Wheeljack. He feels every shift in pressure in his chestplates as Wheeljack eases off of him. He feels it when Wheeljack’s leg accidentally brushes the inside of his own. He feels Wheeljack’s pelvic plating drag against his thigh. He feels everything and he doesn’t want that to stop either. Trying to rationalize it he reminds himself it’s been awhile since he’s let anyone but his trine this close to him.

Wheeljack’s laughter catches his attention and mortification burns in his chest as he looks up at his smiling lab partner.

“Well, now, that was definitely something,” Wheeljack says between chuckles.

“Shut up!” Starscream grumbles only making Wheeljack laugh even more.

“Come on,” Wheeljack soothes, “Wouldn’t be the first time an explosions happened in my lab. Ask anybody. They’ll tell you explosions happen here more often than not.”

“How you actually manage to get anything done is a mystery then,” Starscream rolls his eyes, feeling somewhat less mortified despite himself.

“I manage,” Wheeljack says simply a glint to his optics.

Starscream looks up at him, once again frustrated by not being able to fully tell what his expression is and he knows from experience it’s better to know everything about what others are feeling as it usually acts as a barometer for when someone wants to stab you in the back.

“Is that mask all you have or is there actually a mouth under there?” Starscream asks on a whim.

Surprisingly, Wheeljack just lets the mask flick back revealing his mouth, upturned in an open smile, revealing the tips of imperfect denta with an old scar splitting the side beneath a strong nose. It strikes him immediately: Wheeljack is attractive. Spark pulsing irradictly, he sits up and puts his hands on Wheeljack’s shoulders and without really thinking about it, puts his lips against Wheeljack’s. Things freeze for a moment. Wheeljack stiffens at the initial touch making Starscream stop, fear gripping his spark. Then, as Starscream begins to pull away, Wheeljack pushes forward making Starscream lay down again, kissing him softly but firmly making Starscream feel dizzy. Wheeljack finds sweet spots along his chassis along transformation seams and he tries but fails to swallow down the gasps he lets out whenever Wheeljack finds just the right place. Starscream wraps his legs around his waist and pulls him down which earns him an approving hum that rumbles in his chest. Wheeljack nips at his neck cables as he continues his ministrations as he begins to grind against Starscream’s panels making him moan.

“Ahem,” and just like that they separate and look up to see Perceptor with and all-too-amused looks on his face, “I’m sorry but this will have to wait. We’re needed in the council room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College is the worst and the best. Don't think updates will come quickly.


	8. The Decepticon Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaos erupts in the shared base and drama follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should be two chapters but it appeared in my head as one chapter so you're getting it as one chapter that I just had to write and thus ignored everything else in my life. Yay, procrastination and the oncoming dread of existence itself! Anyway, here's wonderwall...

The sight before him is something that had only ever been dreamed of. Decepticons and Autobots celebrating together in the mess hall, drinking high grade while laughing, singing, and talking with each other, swept away by the levity of a battle well won. The terror of the DJD is no more which is a relief to Autobots and Decepticons alike for no more would judgement befall them in the shape of torture beyond the wildest of imaginations. Even as the epicenter of adoration of the joyous occasion, Thunderclash finds it difficult to join the songs and conversations of his allies as jealousy clouds his spark.

He had been fine when he had arrived, as cheerful as anyone but then Rodimus was nowhere to be found and neither was Deadlock of whom he was informed was still in the Medbay by Krok. Then he watched as Cyclonus all but swept Tailgate off his feet during the dance with a look that couldn’t be seen as anything else but that of pure adoration. They’re a mix of Decepticon and Autobot no longer confined by the restrictions of faction, allies working for a common goal, an arrangement many want to make permanent. Now, Thunderclash is beginning to believe it may be possible and had only then come to the realization that he had been relying on the gap between factions to keep Deadlock and Rodimus apart, two mechs that seemed to have fit together so perfectly. Rodimus is in the Medbay looking after Deadlock and he’s here, surrounded by praise and congratulations that all fall on deaf audials as he stews in his self-made misery. What’s more, he can’t help but hate how he lets himself be so bitter towards a mech who had risked his own life to save Rodimus, risked his very spark. The mech had been all too near death when they had finally gotten him back to the point that Thunderclash had felt his chances of making it had truly begun to slip away, something he had not told Rodimus. The sheer fear Rodimus had shown through clenched denta and wide optics had felt like a blow to Thunderclash’s spark and so, he could not bring himself to tell him -the mech he loves- that Deadlock might not have made it.

In the end the Decepticon lieutenant pulled through miraculously and healed quickly whether due to his youth, sheer Decepticon resilience, or both, who could say? Whatever it was, the moment Rodimus had heard the news from Ratchet he had been overjoyed and finally bothered to tend to himself. In truth, he knows his animosity towards the mech is ill-founded but nevertheless he can’t keep the ache in his spark at bay. Especially now, as he watches Rodimus and Deadlock enter the mess hall, laughing all the way, his spark just aches to be able to bring the same joy to Rodimus. As if to make matters worse, Deadlock spots him and waves before leading Rodimus over to the table he has been slowly sipping at the free drinks he had been given. Rodimus happily follows him, seemingly forgetting his usual grudgun acceptance of the larger mech.

“Thunderclash!” Deadlock cheerfully grabs his forearm as a way of greeting, “I haven’t gotten the chance to thank you yet! You saved my life, thank you.”

“Of course,” Thunderclash responds as brightly as he can, “Can’t have one of our best go out of commission.”

“I only regret not being able to see Roddy’s big finish,” Deadlock nudges Rodimus playfully earning an embarrassed eyeroll.

“It was quite the thing to see,” Thunderclash smiles over at Rodimus who quickly busies himself with one of the many drinks on the table.

“Ha, yeah, Megatron said he was sure you thought you’d found Primus from the way you detailed it in your report,” Deadlock teases and it’s Thunderclash’s turn to look embarrassed.

Rodimus quirks his brow at him and as he’s just about to say something Krok sits down next to Thunderclash laiden with energon goodies and snacks.

“Well, if it isn’t the conquering heroes,” Krok laughs and starts handing out the bowls of sweets, “thanks for leaving me with the ship by the way. Love it when that happens.”

Deadlock has the decency to look apologetic and says, “Hey, if you hadn’t been at the controls I probably wouldn’t have made it back in time.”

“Well, at least you’re aware of that,” Krok says in mock haughtiness while nabbing one of Thunderclash’s many drinks.

“Wow,” Rodimus says as he looks around, “things have really gotten wild haven’t they?”

“What?” Deadlock draws out, following Rodimus’s gaze, “This is nothing. You should’ve seen the party I threw on my ship when we kicked aft on Mars.”

“I do remember there being a lot more sent to the Medbay due to your party than were sent because of the battle itself,” Krok murmurs over his drink making Deadlock squint at him.

“Well, with the Autobots in the mix I’m sure it won’t get that out of hand,” Thunderclash says off-handedly as he watches Deadlock’s attention suddenly snap to the entrance.

Looking over to what had caught the Decepticon’s attention so easily and intensely, he sees none other than Ratchet walk into the fray of party goers. His brow dips as he tries to puzzle out why Deadlock would be so intent on the medic figuring it may be due to Ratchet’s famous bedside manner but Deadlock’s face doesn’t betray any kind of fear or malice towards the medic. Thunderclash sips idly at his high grade as he watches Deadlock remain attentive, almost as though he’s expecting some kind of fight, some kind of attack all the while keeping his eyes solely locked on Ratchet. Then, he catches Rodimus snorting a small laugh into his drink probably having noticed Deadlock’s unusual behavior. Thunderclash sighs as he, once again, feels like he’s out of the loop.

Megatron couldn’t believe this was actually happening. The report he just had to read over and then read over again to make sure it was what he thought it was and then ask Shockwave if it was a serious report only to be assured that it, in fact, was quite serious. He had been curious as to why he had been summoned to a meeting of both Decepticon and Autobot officers without Optimus and now he knows all too clearly why: his subordinates have gone off the deep end. Before him is a formal request from the Decepticon forces written by a single representative accompanied by a list of a hundred signatures expressing the desire and asking his permission to be allowed to court those among the Autobots. Surely things hadn’t actually progressed this quickly. Megatron tries to explain it, to apply logic to how this could have come about. Sure, they had just gained an important victory that not only removed a significant threat but proved that Decepticons and Autobots could operate with each other but that couldn’t have possibly sparked this. From the careful wording of the request itself he’s surmised that this has been building up even before the DJD attack. Perhaps it has been the close quarters…

The door opens and Megatron perks up to see the last of the officers needed to begin the meeting stroll in and what he sees makes the beginnings of a helmache bloom at his temple and a nervous chuckle begin to build in his chest. Starscream, his second in command, just walks into the meeting room with white paint transfers on his pelvic plates, smug and self-absorbed as ever followed closely by Perceptor and Wheeljack. The latter of the two is sporting paint transfers of his own, bright red in hue and looks reasonably embarrassed for it. As always, Starscream has been able to get the jump on everybody with this latest development.

“Ahem,” Megatron catches everyone’s attention as he stands up to address them, “you have all been called here for what I hope to be a very brief meeting and then you can get back to whatever it was you were doing,” he adds with a pointed look at Starscream who shifts slightly but gives nothing else away.

“What is it anyway?” Arcee pipes up, “Shockwave and Prowl have been very mysterious about the entire thing.”

“Well, you see…” Megatron starts then stops and leans on the table with his helm hung low and is quiet for several long seconds.

“What Lord Megatron is trying to inform everyone,” Shockwave steps up to relieve his lord of the responsibility, “is that some of the Decepticons wish to court the Autobots and have requested Lord Megatron’s permission to do so.”

A heavy silence befalls the room as Arcee, Elita, Perceptor, Wheeljack, Strika, Slipstream, and Blackarachnia all look at Megatron, waiting for him to say his piece.

Strika is the first to speak, however, saying, “This is ridiculous.”

“I agree,” Elita grumbles as she rubs her helm, “so, what is your decision, Megatron.”

Megatron shrugs, “Should I?”

“You’re asking us?” Blackarachnia laughs out harshly.

“Well, I don’t think it could hurt anything,” Wheeljack offers.

“Yes,” Arcee smirks at the scientist, “we’re all well aware of your opinion on the matter.”

“It could be beneficial to moral,” Perceptor says and pats Wheeljack’s shoulder good-naturedly and Wheeljack gives him a distressed look.

“Well, I think it’s a terrible idea!” Starscream snaps causing everyone to look at him, “Do you really want to entangle us that much further? At this rate by the end of the month there will be no recognizable Autobots and Decepticons!”

“Hypocrite,” Slipstream chides earning a death glare from the seeker.

“It would create long-lasting bonds that neither Autobot or Decepticon will be eager to break lowering the chances of dividing after defeating Overlord,” Arcee muses, her words stalling those around her to think about what she’s suggesting.

Megatron looks at Starscream who is now looking at Wheeljack with an almost apologetic look and watches as the scientist carefully takes the seeker’s hand below the table making him jump but not pull away. If this would mean a better chance at lasting peace…

“I see,” Megatron nods, “They have my approval then. Effective immediately.”

Shockwave nods and pulls out another pad to send out the update to every Decepticon. Megatron dismisses the officers and returns to his seat, contemplating the future of their joined forces.

Deadlock jolts back to reality as a ping appears on his hud, a faction wide message that he opens immediately to read its contents. His eyes scan the words quickly and his spark suddenly speeds up in his chest, thanking any force listening for this gift. A tap on his shoulder suddenly pulls him away and he turns to Rodimus.

“You okay there, Lock?” Rodimus asks, worry lacing his words.

Deadlock nods, body thrumming with anticipation, unable to find words to reassure his friend. Quickly, he stands up and begins pacing across the room to where Ratchet is and just a few feet away, he spots Grimlock. Without warning, he takes the larger Decepticon by the arm and flips him on to the ground, stunning everyone around them. A brief look of insulted confusion crosses Grimlock’s face then he sees the message and immediately understands. Grimlock leaps up and collides with Deadlock, locking them together in a battle of strength. As they begin to reach a stalemate, Deadlock heaves Grimlock off the ground and slams him back down onto the ground. From there it’s a flurry of punches and kicks that dent armor and split non-vital energon lines, so by the time Deadlock manages to pin Grimlock down making him yield they both look rough around the edges.

As cheers erupt around him at his victory, a strong hand begins to tug him away and he briefly notes First Aid and Ambulon looking over a tired Grimlock, helping him back to his feet. He looks to the person dragging him away to see Ratchet charging determinedly off with him in tow. Excitement burns in Deadlock’s spark and he rushes to match the medics fast pace as they head to where Deadlock now knew the Medbay to be. Once there, Ratchet practically throws him on a medical berth making Deadlock’s spark jump at the casual display of strength, more than happy to play this game. He sits up fully, expectantly and feels Ratchet’s servos roughly cup his face but, instead of a heated kiss, his head gets turned this way and that as Ratchet looks over him, grumbling. The excitement immediately dies in his chest, replaced by confusion and the smallest amount of hurt at being rejected so unceremoniously.

“What in the pit did you think you were doing?” Ratchet shouts at him, satisfied Deadlock hadn’t done any serious damage to himself, “Brawling like that as soon as you’re out of the Medbay after a near-fatal injury? You nearly died, Deadlock! I just got done patching you up!”  
“You’re not impressed?” Deadlock asks softly, the situation becoming almost unbearable for him.

“Impressed?!” Ratchet snaps, “Sure, I’m impressed you managed not reopen all of your wounds! As it is I’m making you stay here for the rest of the day so you don’t cause any more trouble and heal what wounds you did open.”

“I…” Deadlock tries to ask but the words don’t come, “okay.”

“Good, now hold still,” Ratchet says simply and gets to work patching Deadlock back up.

Once the job’s done, Ratchet makes him lie down and sets a cube of medical grade energon on the side table then walks out of the Medbay to probably go see if anyone else was injury themself at the party. Just moments after Ratchet’s gone, Rodimus strides in looking worried and pulls up a chair right next to a glum Deadlock.

“What happened back there?” Rodimus tries and Deadlock looks at him like he’s grown a second head.

Then, after seeing that his friend really just doesn’t get it he sighs and forwards the message he’d gotten earlier to Rodimus. The message goes through, pinging on Rodimus’s hud and he reads it carefully only to burst out laughing. Deadlock puffs up a little indignantly as Rodimus continues to laugh at him, not seeing what was so funny about the situation.

“You were trying to court Ratchet?” Rodimus says as his laughter begins to die down.

“Yes,” Deadlock grumbles, “and I failed.”

“You didn’t fail, Lock,” Rodimus assures him with a gentle pat on his arm, “You just tried to court him the Decepticon way.”

“Well how do you Autobots do it then?” Deadlock cries in frustration.

“First of all, there’s the grand profession of love in front of at least five close friends, then there’s the traditional ballad followed by reciting the first vows of the courtship in the presence of a Sage of Primus then it starts to get complicated,” Rodimus talks as though reciting a list of rules of conduct.

“You’re messing with me,” Deadlock squints at him.

“I am totally messing with you,” Rodimus can’t help but chuckle.

“I just thought that’s how it worked with you guys too,” Deadlock huffs, looking at the ceiling helplessly, “and that it wasn’t happening a lot because either people were already with someone or they were all still closed off because of the war and that no one was fighting over you because of course Thunderclash would go uncontested.”

“What?” Rodimus looks incredibly stunned, “what do you mean ‘uncontested’?”

“Well, I mean he is Thunderclash,” Deadlock shrugs, “even some Decepticons look up to the guy. There’s that along with the intimidation factor of Optimus Prime being your Curae and that you’re the Prime-to-be. That’s a pretty intense combination.”

“My-? Wait, hang on,” Rodimus holds out a hand, confused by the words tumbling out of Deadlock’s mouth, “What do you mean by ‘Curae’?”

“He- He raised you right?” now it’s Deadlock’s turn to look confused, “He raised you since you were…”

“Fifty stellar cycles,” Rodimus fills in and looks away, “He’s my mentor.”

“You don’t have a Curae?” Deadlock whispers immediately looking sad out of the blue.

“I don’t know what that is,” Rodimus stresses.

“When a -I guess- Decepticon is sparked a mech will take them in and raise them as their Amare,” Deadlock explains and Rodimus nods for him to continue, “That mech is the sparkling’s Curae. If the mech has a bonded then they both have that position. A Curae teaches and care for the sparkling to youth to maturity and remains a part of their life albeit not as intensely.”

“Oh,” Rodimus says softly, “Who’s you’re Curae?”

“Megatron,” Deadlock sighs and Rodimus’s optics go wide, “but he wasn’t the one to first take me in. A mech called Wing first took me in and taught me everything I know: sword fighting, survival skills, how to take care of myself, first aid. Then, one day, he was killed during a raid on the battlecruiser he was stationed on and after that, Megatron took me and raised me as his own Amare.”

“I’m sorry,” Rodimus takes Deadlock’s hand to comfort him.

“It was a long time ago,” Deadlock shakes his head, smiling sadly, “So, tell me, how does it work for you Autobots then?”

“Sparklings are kept with the others they’re sparked with and put under the care of a mentor. It’s believed that the familiarity of those your sparked with helps you grow because you’re around people that were there from the beginning, people that are safe. It’s not uncommon for clusters to break off into smaller groups as they get older though,” Rodimus explains and Deadlock nods for him to continue, “That’s why Optimus, Ultra Magnus, and Perceptor are so close, they’re clustermates. Ratchet, on the other hand, is Optimus’s Amica.”

“Amica?”

“You don’t have Amica?”

Deadlock shakes his head and Rodimus scrunches up his face in thought.

“It’s the one or few you’re closest to platonically. Each bond is different but important and you can usually talk about anything with your Amica. You’re always there for each other no matter what. It’s… a really serious commitment.”

“That sounds like what we call ‘clustermates’,” Deadlock muses, “Though, that’s usually mechs that are raised by the same Curae. Speaking of, how did you wind up under Optimus?”

“Oh, uh,” Rodimus looks down, a deep frown set in his features, “there’s another thing that separates me from other mechs than being Prime-to-be and being mentored by Optimus Prime.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t have a cluster.”

“You were separated just to be mentored by the Prime?” Deadlock hisses looking ready to fight someone.

“No, no,” Rodimus soothes, “I mean I literally don’t have a cluster. One well, one spark. The well at the base of the Temple of Primus in Nyon, in fact.”

“Well, that’s a bit on the nose,” Deadlock laughs.

“Yeah…,” Rodimus sighs.

“That’s why they put you in the care of the Prime? Because they thought it was a sign from Primus?”

“No, at first they thought I was meant to be the Grand Sage, the living word of Primus,” Rodimus corrects and laughs when Deadlock looks at him doubtfully, “It’s true! They thought I was going to be some wise authority that would bring about a new Golden Age.”

“What happened to that, then?”

“As I began to develop they noticed that the artifacts kept in the temple’s walls started responding to me,” Rodimus sighs again, “responding to me like they would respond to a Prime.”

“So then they handed you off to Optimus to one day become Prime,” Deadlock finishes and Rodimus nods silently.

“I became his charge.”

Optimus hurries down the halls towards where he’s to meet Megatron, enraged. A week had passed since the faction-wide announcement permitting the Decepticons to court Autobots and from that point on it seemed as though non-stop fights had been taking place all throughout the base. This violent posturing has caused their Medbay to almost always be half-full of injured mechs who had started a fight for the sake of looking tough in front of their desired. Ratchet had shouted his audial off about the insanity of it all and the kind of dent it was making on their medical supplies. Having seen more than a few of the brawls himself he’s inclined to agree with his Amica on the matter and he means to put an end to it.

He finds Megatron waiting patiently for him, looking over a datapad that he sets down once Optimus begins to approach him. Optimus stops and sits down across from Megatron and lets himself seeth for a moment.

“You wished to discuss something?” Megatron flicks the datapad off.

“These courting fights or whatever they are need to be stopped,” Optimus starts and takes off his mask to help cool himself off, “they are beginning to put unnecessary strain on both the troops and our medical supplies. Can you put a stop to this?”

“Optimus,” Megatron puts a hand on his shoulder, “they’re just getting riled up over having new faces to try to woo. It’ll die down within the week, I assure you. It’s better to let it run its course than try to stop it prematurely, otherwise there’s built up tension that gets expressed in far worse ways.”

Optimus studies Megatron carefully before sighing and propping his arm on the table to lean on.

“I hope so.”

It’s an unusually quiet day in the mess hall given the recents brawls that had been popping seemingly at random anywhere and everywhere but especially the mess hall where many mechs gather. Thunderclash thanks Primus for even just this moment of peace he’s been granted as he sips at his energon languidly, savoring the taste as he sits quietly with Deadlock. He really does appreciate that he doesn’t have to fill the air with meaningless chatter around the mech, it’s incredibly relieving. In the quiet he thinks about his week. Other than the brawls, things have been good lately and he’s been able to spend more time with his squad meaning he’s been able to spend more time with Rodimus. Krok has turned out to be a good guy and far more responsible than the rest of them and he’s warming up to Deadlock but being able to train and live with Rodimus is practically a dream come true. Also, however slowly, he feels as though the speedster has begun to warm up to him. Rodimus dismisses him less frequently and even approaches him to ask him to join the rest of them to go drinking or just hang out together. He never thought he’d actually be grateful for anything Prowl or Shockwave did but he is very grateful that they put him in a squad with Rodimus.

As though sensing his thoughts, Rodimus walks in and starts heading to the table and suddenly Deadlock perks up. The Decepticon stands up, looking nervous and begins to approach Rodimus with purpose. Thunderclash’s spark whirls uneasily as he watches Deadlock gather himself in front of Rodimus who seems confused by his demeanor. It’s only all too clear to Thunderclash that this is it, this is the moment that Deadlock has decided to ask Rodimus if he may court him, if they can be something more. Deadlock clears his intake and firmly sets his gaze on Rodimus as he squares his shoulders and fixes his stance. Rodimus starts to look nervous and he begins to look around the room at everyone else noticing that all eyes are on them, making him shift his plates uneasily.

“Rodimus,” Deadlock addresses him formally, his voice ringing out in the stillness, “I know we haven’t known each other long but I know in my spark that we were meant to meet.”

Thunderclash’s spark plummets and Rodimus optics go wide as Deadlock continues on.

“I know our cultures are different and I know I don’t understand everything but I know you are more than a friend, more than a comrade in arms,” Deadlock takes a deep vent and lets it out, “That’s why I’d like to this your way and I guess sort of a bit the Decepticon way too. I don’t have any clustermates meaning I’ve never had anyone to grow with, to share experiences with.”

Now, Thunderclash is a bit lost. Where is Deadlock going with this?

“But I feel like I’ve known you forever and I’d like to always be by your side, no matter what,” Deadlock reaches out and takes Rodimus’s hand, “So, what I’m asking is, will you be my Amica?”

Thunderclash gapes at them as Rodimus goes still and the rest of the room gasps in surprise at the bold gesture. Rodimus doesn’t react at first then his face scrunches up in a bittersweet smile and he all but jumps on Deadlock, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Yeah,” Rodimus practically sobs, “yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

Deadlock squeezes Rodimus to him tightly as if he was never going to let the speedster go again as the crowd around them begin to cheer and congratulate them. Thunderclash looks on and a kind of sorrow he’s never known fills him, realizing now how alone Rodimus must have been all these years without a cluster, with a position that made him so unreachable. All he had wanted was to be seen, truly seen and Deadlock came along and filled the gap that had been there all this time. Admonishing himself for his jealousy and in a spur of the moment decision he goes up to the pair and lifts them up in a hug. Rodimus jolts in surprise and Deadlock laughs, caught up in the moment and happy to be taken into the embrace.

Optimus looks on as Rodimus, Deadlock, and Thunderclash all sit down together and chat about the brawls that had taken place that day, smiling and laughing together. A soft smile forms on his lips as Rodimus recounts a brawl scene by scene with dramatic movements. He’s very happy that Megatron had suggested they get fuel after their discussion so he could see this moment. Megatron hums contentedly next to him, clearly as pleased by the scene as he is.

“Well, it seems as though there’s no going back now,” Megatron jokes.

“Indeed,” Optimus chuckles, “Those two can’t be separated now.”

“I think the moment we put them on the same ship together was when it was all over,” Megatron laughs, “You should’ve seen the trouble they caused. In all honesty, it was perhaps the most fun my troops had in awhile.”

“Rodimus does have that effect on people,” Optimus says wistfully.

“I am curious though,” Megatron turns towards Optimus, gaining his full attention, “What is an ‘Amica’?”

“You don’t have Amicas?”

“No,” Megatron draws out thoughtfully.

“Amicas are a pair of… friends isn’t the right word. It’s something more, something deep. It’s a life bond where two mecha or more as the case may be promise to be by each other’s side in even the worst of times. They help lift each other up and rely upon one another emotionally for the things that cannot be expressed in words or to those that they do not feel can be privy to the depths of their sparks.”

“That is… much more than I thought it would be,” Megatron shakes his head in disbelief, “To think that my Amare would join such a bond with yours. Had someone told me that this would happen even just a year ago I would have laughed in their face.”

“Amare?” Optimus asks and Megatron snaps to look at him.

“Rodimus, your Amare.”

“Rodimus is my charge.”

They stare at each other for a moment then Optimus starts chuckling.

“I see there is still much to go over,” Megatron smiles as he continues drinking his energon.

“Yes, there certainly is,” Optimus says contentedly, “let’s just hope this whole courting thing doesn’t cause much more trouble.”

“Agreed.”

It, to Megatron’s great dismay and embarrassment, does not quiet down and he finds himself actually apologizing to the Prime and promising to find the reason behind the unusual trend. He recruits Shockwave into pinpointing the precise problem and receives a message just hours later saying that he had found the problem and would like to discuss it with him, Optimus, and, surprisingly, Rodimus. He finds the primeling shifting nervously in his seat next to Optimus with Shockwave going over something just across from them. Megatron sits down and motions for Shockwave to begins.

“Rodimus is the unforeseen factor,” Shockwave states simply, getting straight to the point.

“I didn’t do anything!” Rodimus cries out, distressed and confused.

“You did not have to,” Shockwave explains, “You demonstrated that you are a capable and interesting individual. You are also of a particularly powerful and influential position. All of these factors add up to make it so the troops find you… desirable.”

“You mean they’re all fighting because they want to impress me?” Rodimus asks, finding this whole situation ridiculous.

“Correct,” Shockwave replies stiffly.

“How can we shift attention away from him?” Optimus asks Shockwave, “Surely that will cause the fights to die down.”

“If Rodimus were to already be in a relationship there would then be a much smaller chance of winning his favor,” Shockwave drones on, obviously unimpressed by his colleagues’ behavior, “Some might still challenge whoever that would be but that is far less likely.”

“What?” Rodimus shouts, leaping to his feet, “You mean I have to get a date just to keep people from wasting medical supplies? Do you realize how dumb that sounds?”

“Yes,” Shockwave replies sharply, cutting off anything else Rodimus has to say in his indignation.

“You do not have to get a date, Rodimus,” Megatron assures him, “Now that I know the cause of the issue, I’m sure I can settle things.”

“No,” Rodimus starts storming out, “This mess is because of me so I’m going to fix this.”

“Rodimus-” Megatron tries to bring the young mech back but a hand on his arm stops him short.

“He feel responsible for all of the infighting,” Optimus explains, looking sadly at the space Rodimus had occupied, “He won’t be happy unless he at least tries to fix it. It’s illogical, yes, but it’s better to let him try to help than trying to take care of it for him.”

“He is always trying to prove himself, isn’t he?” Megatron asks gently.

“He is.”

Rodimus rushes to the most crowded place he can think of and heads straight to the Commons, the big empty space where people just gather when they aren’t doing anything. When he enters, he finally notices what he had failed to before, eyes scanning his frame and tension building at his very presence. He has never felt this kind of attention before and he’s finding he doesn’t much care for it, feeling like a prize to be won. Making his way to one of the raised platforms, he climbs on top of it and faces all the mechs gathered there, eyes still firmly set on him. They all quiet down, getting the hint that he meant to say something to them all and that they better listen. Rodimus swallows down the sudden bundles of nerves and hardens his stare at the shifting crowd.

“I know that many of you have tried to impress me by brawling with each other,” Rodimus calls out to the crowd, voice stronger than he was expecting and sees his words cause a ripple of anticipation among the gathered bodies, “but you should all know that there’s not point to that.”

A cry of confusion and disappointment echoes through the chamber at his words demanding to know why. What did he mean their efforts were for not? Many reasons popped into his head like that’s not how he picks out who he likes, the fighting was embarrassing him, or that Ratchet was going to be angry with him for having to go through so much medical stock. He knows all of that wouldn’t go over well and panic blooms in his chest as he tries to come up with a reason, a reason they’ll all accept and then his new Amica’s words echo in his mind. Uncontested.

“Because Thunderclash is already my bonded to be,” Rodimus yells over the noise and everything goes quiet.

Eyes peer up at him, dismay and understanding written on their faces. Then, as if nothing had happened, they all go back to whatever conversations they’d been having and no more looks of interest made their way to Rodimus. He would have been relieved if he wasn’t suddenly annoyed that none of them were going to so much as try their odds against Thunderclash. That big doofus really is respected without equal on both sides and now… Now, Rodimus just claimed to be in a very serious relationship with him.

Relating what he had just done was bad enough, Optimus could at least try to control himself and stop laughing as hard as he is. Rodimus sits with his arms crossed as he scowls at Optimus who tries and fails to calm down, leaning heavily against the table and shaking with laughter. Eventually he manages to calm down enough to take a sip of energon further calming him down and turns to Rodimus.

“Well,” Optimus starts and almost starts laughing again, “that was certainly one way to fix the problem. Thank you, Rodimus. I’m sure that Ratchet will be relieved to hear that there will no longer be such a strain on his supplies.”

“Don’t thank me for that,” Rodimus snaps, “I panicked. I didn’t know what else to say.”

“Does Thunderclash know he’s now a very lucky mech?” Optimus teases.

“No,” Rodimus groans, “I don’t even want him to be the lucky mech. Why couldn’t I have said it was someone else? Anyone else?”

“Thunderclash is a good and honorable mech, Rodimus,” Optimus pats his dejected charge, “I’m sure he’ll understand when you explain the situation to him.”

“Do I have to?” Rodimus groans.

“If you want this charade to continue and be believable, yes.”

“Ugh, Deadlock is never going to let me live this down,” Rodimus mutters.

“Right, he’s your Amica now,” Optimus says and Rodimus suddenly stiffens and turns slowly to look at his mentor, “I didn’t get the chance to give you my congratulations earlier. I’m glad you’ve found someone you feel like you can trust that deeply.”

“You’re not mad?” Rodimus whispers in disbelief.

“Why would I be mad?” Optimus tilts his head to consider his charge, “How could I be knowing what he risked for you?”

“He really did risk a lot, didn’t he,” Rodimus says softly, his expression turning grim with the memory of nearly losing his Amica, the event having left a deep impression on him.

“He did,” Optimus nods then shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he begins to try to bring up what he wanted to say.

“What? What is it?” Rodimus asks noticing Optimus’s discomfort.

“I… Rodimus, you know I’m proud of you, don’t you?” Optimus puts a hand on Rodimus’s shoulder.

“Um,” Rodimus looks down to avoid Optimus’s eyes, “I guess.”

Optimus pushes down the ache in his spark at that and goes on, “Well, I am. Truly. I also… I also never wanted you to not have a choice in life. I didn’t want the Primacy forced on you.”

“So you don’t think I’d make a good Prime?” Rodimus grumbles, “Still?”

“Rodimus look at me,” Optimus says firmly and the primeling looks up reluctantly, “You would be the best Prime Cybertron has ever known. That doesn’t mean it should be the only path open to you. You should have gotten the chance to explore life and all the different possibilities it holds not… this. Your fate was decided for you at fifty stellar cycles, a terribly young age. A fate that can only ever be achieved if I die.”

“You certainly seem eager to sometimes,” Rodimus snaps then recoils on himself after realizing what he just said.

“You’re right,” Optimus whispers, the sadness that comes with millions of years of war settling over him like a shroud, “I have done many things that would make it seem that I don’t care for my own life and that hasn’t been fair to you. I’m sorry.”

“Optimus, mentor, I didn’t… I didn’t mean it,” Rodimus chokes out, distress wracking his frame.

“No, I know,” Optimus soothes.

“I don’t want you to die,” Rodimus curls on himself as if the words themselves pierced him, “I know you’re my mentor and… and it’s not… I’m not supposed rely on you now but I only have you. I’ve only had you and Ratchet for as long as I can remember. People only ever tried to coddle me or appease me because I’m your charge and the next Prime. It’s never been real. You’re the only ones that have ever been real.”

Optimus stands up, a pain like no other piercing his spark, and pulls Rodimus up to meet him, the young mech’s frame now shaking with pent-up emotions.

“The Decepticons have a different way, don’t they?” Optimus whispers, finally getting Rodimus to look up at him, “Curae and Amare? That bond is meant to be far more long lasting and personal and I believe it may better apply to us than that of mentor and charge, wouldn’t you say?”  
Rodimus looks up at him with bright optics filled with a hope that breaks Optimus’s spark. How long had he kept Rodimus at arms length?

“I’m not your mentor, Rodimus,” Optimus speaks clearly and for a moment uncertainty and hurt flickers in Rodimus’s optics, “I’m your Curae.”

With that, Rodimus flings himself into Optimus’s chest and wraps his arms around him tightly like he was his only lifeline. Optimus wraps his arms around Rodimus in return, curling in on the smaller mech as if to shield him from the world as contentment washes over him. Holding Rodimus like this feels like coming home, as if a piece of his spark that had been missing was finally returned to him and anything that ever tries to take it away should be very afraid.

“I will never abandon you, my Amare,” Optimus whispers and a sob rips through Rodimus’s intake.

They stand there for who knows how long with Optimus holding and supporting Rodimus as he let his pain free as he should have done a long time ago.

Thunderclash walks back to his shared quarters and bumps into Krok and Deadlock there with Rodimus nowhere to be found and sighs. He sits down on his berth and begins going through the paperwork he needs to get done as thoughts about the day flit through his mind. The fighting had miraculously all but disappeared some time in the past few hours which had been strange but no less a relief. Around the same time less than friendly looks had been thrown his way for some reason that he wasn’t interested in figuring out. Ultra Magnus had run him ragged with the paperwork that had come with the courting frenzy that has been, to Thunderclash at least, surprisingly successful. In any case, who was he to judge if a showy Decepticon got a bot’s energon flowing? Everyone does seem happier with being able to be a bit freer with their emotions inter-factionally especially in the case of showing affection. Just walking back to his quarters he spotted at least three inter-faction couples mingling out in the open without fear of any kind of retribution. Thunderclash could deal with an influx of paperwork if it meant his comrades could find even a shred of happiness amidst the chaos.

Krok nudges his leg with his foot catching his attention and hands him an energon goodie drink which he takes gratefully. Rodimus chooses that moment to wander in looking tired but content and walks to the berth across from Thunderclash’s to sit down and stretch out his legs.  
“So I guess we’re going to have to set some new ground rules then, huh?” Krok puts his hands on his hips looking between Rodimus and Thunderclash.

“What do you mean?” Thunderclash sets his datatpad to the side and looks between his roommates.

Deadlock starts chuckling as realization dawns on Rodimus and he leans back on the berth, groaning in mortification.

“Yeah, Rodimus,” Deadlock gets through between chuckles, “don’t want to wake up to you and Thunderclash canoodling.”

Thunderclash quirks his brow at Deadlock, “What do you mean?”

Rodimus sits up and looks right at Thunderclash, mortification still plain on his face, “I did a dumb.”

“What he means is he all but announced to the entirety of the cross factions that you and he are together,” Krok puts a hand to his face, catching on to what’s going on, “romantically.”

Thunderclash’s spark leaps and he lets out a nervous laugh and looks to Rodimus for confirmation who looks away, almost ashamed.

“But… why?” Thunderclash asks lamely.

“Because the Decepticons were tearing everyone around them apart for a chance to get a piece of Roddy,” Deadlock grins wickedly.

“Now,” Rodimus groans again, regretting what he’s going to say next, “we have to act like we’re a couple so no one catches on I just said that to get them all to stop fighting over me.”

“Oh,” is all Thunderclash can manage as all eyes fall on him.

“So,” Rodimus draws out and scratches one finial awkwardly, “is that okay?”

“Uh,” Thunderclash clears his intake and nods, “that should be fine. Yeah, that should be fine. I can do that.”

“No need to be so nervous, Clash,” Deadlock teases.

“This isn’t going to end well,” Krok mutters.

“It’s going to be fine,” Rodimus insists and stands up, “So, Thunderclash, I guess we have to agree on like, what’s okay?”

“Oh, uh any kind of PDA is fine with me,” Thunderclash shrugs, scratching his neck awkwardly.

“Right, yeah, okay,” Rodimus looks away again.

“Where’d that bravado go, Rodimus?” Krok teasess, leaning back on the far wall next to Deadlock to enjoy the show.

“This is awkward okay?” Rodimus snaps.

Thunderclash stands up, meeting Rodimus in the middle and carefully puts his hands on his arms, the touch gently and easy to move away from if Rodimus so desired.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Thunderclash says softly, “I doubt we need to do anything physical in public to prove we’re a couple, fake as we may be. We just need to… act close.”

“Right,” Rodimus looks up at Thunderclash nervously and puts his hands on top of Thunderclash’s outstretched arms, “like, nicknames and stuff.”

“Exactly,” Thunderclash smiles down at Rodimus who avoids his eyes.

“Heh, keep doing that and people won’t suspect anything,” Krok huffs.

Thunderclash and Rodimus notice how close they are and immediately step away as if they had been burned. Deadlock rolls his eyes at them.

“May I call you ‘Roddy’?” Thunderclash asks without looking at Rodimus.

“Only if I get to call you ‘Thunders’,” Rodimus replies while trying to regain his composure.

Thunderclash gives him a winning smile, “You could have started calling me that whenever you wanted.”

Rodimus practically jumps out of his plating before clearing his intake, avoiding Thunderclash’s eyes again.

“I’m going to go see if Ratchet needs anything,” Rodimus says and excuses himself.

“This is going to be the best and the worst thing,” Deadlock says as he plops down on a berth.

“What do you mean?” Thunderclash asks and his roommates facepalm almost simultaneously.

Finally, peace had been restored to the halls all thanks to the primeling’s over-dramatic display in the middle of the Commons. Starscream has to admit though, he did have to give the young mech points for presentation. He can really move a crowd. The frenzy itself had been amusing for a day and then had quickly lost its humor after he had to cover for Skywarp’s sorry aft who had jumped into the fray. He didn’t enjoy the bigger workload or the scolding that manic medic gave him when he went to check on his idiotic trinemate. It wouldn’t be so bad if he could actually join in on the sparring to relieve some of his own stress but as second in command he had appearances to maintain so he can’t just jump any random subordinate as either victory or defeat would mar his reputation. No, the only one’s he could spar are Shockwave who never participates in such things as he sees them as beneath him, Soundwave who isn’t here and wouldn’t want to anyway, or Megatron who has no interest in participating simply because he has no one to impress. Starscream huffs in frustration for the umpteenth time making Wheeljack look at him with concern as they continue to the Commons. He pointedly ignores the look, upset as the scientist is the very reason he feels so frustrated in the first place.

Ever since the instance before the meeting that started this whole mess there had been nothing. Wheeljack hadn’t so much as flirted with him. It was starting to grate on Starscream’s nerves because it wasn’t as though he hadn’t tried to flirt with the scientist, off-handed comments on how broad his chassis is or how skilled he is with his hands. He doesn’t know what to do with it all, fearing that that one instance had been nothing more than a fluke, a spur of the moment bad decision. It certainly didn’t help that his trine teased him about it as soon as they heard the news of him walking into a meeting with paint transfers on his crotch. Everytime they tease him, they also ask about repeat performances only reminding him there have been no repeat performances which is not only a major blow to his ego but was starting to hurt in other ways Starscream doesn’t want to name.

“You feeling okay, Star?” Wheeljack asks, clearly nervous.

“I have a helmache,” Starscream excuses his foul mood, “it will go away as soon as the painkillers kick in.”

“Oh, okay, if you say so,” Wheeljack let’s it drop and looks around, “it’s been really quiet lately.”

“Yes, we have the Prime-to-be to thank for that,” Starscream grumbles, “he made a grand show of announcing how he and Thunderclash are together.”

“What?” Wheeljack exclaims, “I thought Rodimus hated him.”

“Clearly, he doesn’t,” Starscream rolls his optics.

“I suppose not,” Wheeljack says airily, “It might be a bit odd but I hope the sparring matches don’t die out completely.”

“Oh, and why’s that?”

“Well, they’ve kind of livened things up around here and I mean in a weird way they… work?” Wheeljack parses out all the while gauging Starscream’s reaction.

“What are jealous that no one’s fought to impress you yet?” Starscream scoffs.

“No,” Wheeljack shrugs, “I mean I wouldn’t mind I guess? It would be a bit flattering. All I’m saying is people know an attractive mech in action when they see one.”

“So, you are jealous,” Starscream teases.

“Well, why haven’t you participated?” Wheeljack nudges him, “No mech you want to impress?”

Starscream freezes and looks at Wheeljack carefully. Wheeljack was jealous. That was it. All the other inter-faction couples had the same dramatic display of an epic brawl but the way he and Wheeljack had started out… was with a tumble. Making a decision, Starscream scans the room and spots the very mech he’s looking for, Megatron. Without any pomp and circumstance, Starscream marches right up to Megatron and flips him on to the ground in one smooth movement. Megatron gets up and looks at Starscream as if he’d gone mad before getting a gut full of fist. Never one to back down from a challenge Megatron counters the next blow and knocks Starscream down. They continue on like that, exchanging blows until suddenly a rough hand pushes Starscream off of Megatron, stunning him and knocking him to the ground. When he looks up, he finds Optimus Prime standing in front of him, hand still stretched out from where he had pushed off Starscream with his other hand on Megatron as if to hold him back. From where Starscream got knocked to the gesture looks almost… possessive.

“Enough!” Optimus calls out in full authority, “I will not have officers brawling in the Commons or anywhere for that matter. Is that understood?”

Starscream gets up and huffs haughtily, “Very well, Optimus. The match was coming to a stalemate anyway.”

When he turns around to walk back he sees Wheeljack staring at him, optics wide in surprise and a smirk finds its way to Starscream’s lips. He struts over to Wheeljack who leads him away back to the lab where he’s made to sit on a counter by Wheeljack. Wheeljack heads off somewhere to look through some cabinets and comes back with a medkit that he opens and starts taking out supplies. Somewhat disappointed, Starscream sets his head on his hand, srm carefully balanced his knee and proceeds to pout. Just as he begins to really get caught up in his bad mood, he hears an odd noise to his side and finds that it’s Wheeljack laughing. With his mask aside, he wipes away the tears that had begun to fall from how hard he was laughing. Starscream puffs up, insulted by the way Wheeljack was now treating him, like he hadn’t just brawled with Megatron to try to impress him.

“I don’t see what you find so funny,” Starscream growls.

“You fought Megatron!” Wheeljack wheezes, “Starscream, I was joking. You didn’t- You didn’t have to fight anybody to impress me.”

“Well, you hardly showed any interest otherwise after the first incident,” Starscream spits out.

“Uh, I,” Wheeljack scratches a finial, “I didn’t think you were interested in me like that and the meeting didn’t exactly go smoothly. You didn’t seem to approve of inter-faction romance.”

Starscream thinks back to the meeting and mentally slaps himself for that now realizing that all of his troubles had really been his fault and not any rudeness on Wheeljack’s part.

“Well, I worry about possibilities like what if things go wrong or what if we fall apart after we’re done dealing with Overlord?” Starscream sighs, “Splitting up anyway even after it all and then forcing to pick sides after they’ve bonded to those who were once the other side would be chaos not to mention incredibly problematic.”

“And what about you?” Wheeljack asks as he begins to clean the scuffs and nicks that Starscream had gotten during his fight.

“What?”

“What would you do? Now?” Wheeljack asks softly, “If we had to fight against each other again?”

“I,” Starscream starts then stops to think.

What would he do? He’d never be able to make weapons again partially because he’s so used to Wheeljack being there to help him now and partially because he’d be so afraid of them being used on Wheeljack he’d never be able to make anything. He could never be an Autobot though, his morals and his track record just wouldn’t let him be anything other than a Decepticon. He might try asking Wheeljack to come with him, to become a Decepticon but he can already see how that would go as Wheeljack is too much of an Autobot and too good of a friend to just abandon the side he’s fought for for millions of years. That all really only left one choice.

“I’d ask you to run away with me,” Starscream whispers and Wheeljack’s hand freezes on his cheek, just done wiping away energon from a scrape, “to run away somewhere that the war didn’t reach.”

Starscream looks at Wheeljack, eyes burning with no hint of levity, communicating how serious he is about his words, how much he wants Wheeljack to know he’s not kidding.

“What would you say?” Starscream asks softly, afraid of the answer and yet so desperate for it.

Wheeljack leans in so their faces were just breaths apart, “I wouldn’t even bother with packing. I’d leave then and there.”

Starscream kisses him and rough hands wrap around his waist, cleaning cloth forgotten. It’s slow and sweet and like nothing Starscream has ever experienced before. Wheeljack tugs him to the edge of the counter and Starscream lets his legs wrap around his waist, pushing their panels together, desperate for friction. Wheeljack’s deft hands work their way between where his wing met his chassis and play with the sensitive cabling there creating delicious sensations to travel through him. Starscream claws at Wheeljack’s waist, twisting and pulling cables as he goes earning a hum of pleasure and a rev of engines. Wheeljack bites down on his neck cables making Starscream gasp and arch into him, feeling the thrum of Wheeljack’s engines to his very core. Starscream grinds into Wheeljack, feeling lubrication begin to drip from his valve due to the heat coming from Wheeljack’s own panels and the wonderful things being done to his wings. Wheeljack slides his hands along Starscream’s frame down to his thighs and digs into sensitive transformation seams making Starscream buck into his touch. Wheeljack groans with need while kiss up Starscream’s throat and grinds into Starscream’s hot panel and Starscream lets it open.

Wheeljack comes back to kiss Starscream slowly and sweetly as he slides a hand over and begins to rub his anterior node with his thumb in slow, firm circles sending wave after wave of pleasure. Starscream moans into the kiss and grinds into Wheeljack’s hand seeking more. Wheeljack pulls away from the kiss while taking his hand away and Starscream makes a needy sound, desperate for his touch. Starscream leans back as Wheeljack pushes his thighs apart, freeing himself from the embrace to kneel down and press his mouth against Starscream’s valve to lick along the opening up to the node to suck on it gently. Starscream throws his head back, letting himself get lost in the feeling of Wheeljack’s hot glossa against his node, pressing loving laps down onto it.

Starscream gently tugs up on Wheeljack’s finial bringing him back to kiss him thoroughly, pulling him back close to him wanting to feel every part of him. The blunt tip of Wheeljack’s spike presses up against hims and he takes it in hand giving it a small stroke earning a throaty moan. Starscream guides it to his slick valve and, taking the invitation, Wheeljack slowly begins to push in making Starscream gasp. Wheeljack captures Starscream’s mouth in another kiss, swallowing his moans as he pushes deeper until he’s finally hilted all the way. Starscream wriggles beneath him, feeling the thick spike stretch him wide with shallow ridges rubbing against his interior nodes just so. Starscream leans in and bites Wheeljack’s neck cables making him stifle a moan and give a small buck of hips, jolting Starscream to the core.

Wheeljack pulls back out somewhat and then pushes slowly back in and Starscream sighs contentedly as he feels every bump and ridge rub him in just the right way. The pace Wheeljack sets is slow and even interspersed with loving kisses to Starscream’s cockpit, neck, and lips making for an incredibly maddening combination. Starscream loses himself and doesn’t bother being quiet, letting Wheeljack know exactly how he’s making him feel.

“Starscream,” Wheeljack pants into his audial, “you’re so beautiful.”

The words are like a spark to kindling making every sensation that much more as Wheeljack begins to pick up the pace.

“You’re brilliant and funny,” Wheeljack continues making Starscream’s spark whirl in his chest, “I love every moment I get to spend with you.”

Starscream gasps and tucks his head into the crook of Wheeljack’s neck, feeling Wheeljack’s spike hit all the right places making him gasp and moan as he listens to the praises and loving words that all jumble into just “I love you” as Wheeljack loses himself. Tension builds and Starscream cries out into Wheeljack’s neck as overload takes him and feels his valve clench down on that wonderful spike. Moments later, Wheeljack overloads, spilling hot transfluid into him and continues pumping into Starscream, riding out his overload until they both relax, panting heavily. Starscream pulls away enough to give Wheeljack a lazy smile that is quickly kissed away.

“I love you too,” Starscream breathes with his helm pressed against Wheeljack’s.


	9. Sigma-4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cosmos and Soundwave along with their human companions are on the look out on space station Sigma-4.

Within the infinite vastness of space the individual may wander both physically and mentally. When there is nothing but the self among the stars, the individual is the beginning and the end as well as the shape of the immediate reality. For what is reality? The only way anyone may know if something is through a series of sensory inputs that create a reaction within the mind that is then interpreted into what is. Then, from that interpretation abstract concepts are formed as to what it means to be, what it means for what is that is around to be, to exist. Within this process in lies the question itself. Are the sensory inputs the reality or is it the interpretation of the individual of said inputs? If it is to be believed that the interpretation is the reality then the conceptualization of this reality could differ depending upon the individual. Our shared reality or, at least, the understanding thereof is then the collaboration of these individualized realities into a common understanding of what our reality is. Under this assumption, does that mean that the conceptualization could become or be perceived as more real than the sensory inputs that we base our reality upon? If it was possible to drastically shift the shared conceptualization completely and totally would that then be changing reality itself if what we know to be real is simply our interpretation therein or would it simply change the perceived reality and not what may be the true reality, the sensory input?

Stretching beyond this, if the entire universe was but a simulation by which sensory input was fabricated permitting the same conceptualized reality would we be able to eventually tell the difference? Would it matter? The key factor in this would then be whether individuals would be in control. If individuals still had the same perceived reality, still acted as they normally would, and interacted as they saw fit then the fact that it was a simulation wouldn’t matter. Without this individuality, without this control then reality could truly be put into question for if an individual does not control their own actions then they may very well be a fabrication. Assuming we control our own thoughts and actions, so long as we have the concept of reality then we shall always be real.

“Cosmos, report,” comes the deep monotone of Soundwave from across the comms, startling Cosmos out of his inner monologue.

“Oh! Right! Uh, all clear, no sign of activity,” Cosmos chirps back nervously.

“It is easy to lose one’s self in self reflection in space,” Sounwave scolds, “but it is imperative that we remain vigilant for we are the first line of defense. I know I need not remind you but you seemed to be drifting rather far this time.”  
Right, Soundwave’s an empath. Cosmos groans and flicks back to his commlink.

“You’re right,” Cosmos sighs, “I’m just not used to my recon being so…”

“Necessary,” Soundwave finishes in a way that sounds like he’s half distracted by something else, “It is true that the Autobots didn’t seem to know how to use your skills.”

“Hey! I’m sure they…” Cosmos begins to defend his comrades but the truth is he really has never felt useful among his comrades.

Ever since Cosmos had started working with Soundwave he kept on being surprised by just how much the Decepticon could just know about him without really asking him much about anything. Cosmos would be a really freaked out instead of just a little freaked out if Soundwave hadn’t been as polite about it as he has been these past few weeks. A part of Cosmos really likes just how much the other mech seems to pay attention to him as well as value his skills, you know, when he’s actually concentrating on using those skills and not getting lost in space both figuratively and metaphorically. He really just doesn’t know how to feel about the mech.

At least the humans have been nice and uncomplicated. Rodney hooked him up with better long-range communication systems which really helps keep his nerves down while he’s out looking for an enemy of astronomical proportions. The few times before he’d gotten that installed, Soundwave had really freaked him out by coming by wherever he was with a shuttle to take him back to Sigma-4 without so much as having to ping him to know where he was. Dr. Riyu is strict but very thorough and easy to work with. He doesn’t really talk with her much mostly just for a lack of knowing what to say to her but other than that he’s happy to just sit and run numbers with her. Dr. Devereux seems to give him an upgrade every few hours or so and has helped tweak his frame for higher efficiency down to the last millimeter of the very bolts keeping him together. He doesn’t remember the last time he was at this kind of peak performance for more than a few days. It’s a little disorienting.

“Return to Sigma-4,” Soundwave breaks into his tide of thoughts, “Your rounds are complete.”

“Understood, on my way,” Cosmos replies flatly as he transforms into alt-mode and flies back to their base.

Their little crew has fallen into a comfortable routine during their time together on the all-to-spacious base clearly meant for more than just two mechs and three humans. The base seemed to go on forever sometimes with it’s long, quiet hallways fitting for the quiet mech that had been left in charge of the space station. Soundwave had told him how the Decepticon forces that had been stationed here were relocated a decade or so ago to stabilize the front line on Earth. The station is his pet project, a place where he’s been able to test out his outlier abilities in full without anyone to bother him or intervene while still being able to remain in contact with Lord Megatron. Cosmos had been surprised how easily Soundwave shared information with him as though they had never been on opposite sides of the war. A guilty part of him also likes how well the former Decepticon third in command listen to him whenever he talks about, well, anything. Having Soundwave around has turned out to be more of a comfort than the point of stress he had feared he would be in part because of all the wonderful conversations they’ve had but also by being a leading force that he can rely on. It’s nice not having to take the reigns of something he’s never really done before. He’s done recon, sure, but that was just sweeps through space and pinging back reports, not this careful planning of key sweeps through sectors while balancing constant streams of data from probes sent in addition to those sweeps, carefully analyzing everything for anomalies.

“You’re drifting again,” Soundwave says over a datapad, not looking away.

“Wha?” Cosmos says softly in a daze, “Was I? Sorry.”

“It’s nothing of concern,” Soundwave waves him off in his usual way that Cosmos has come to learn as Soundwave’s way of trying to come off as comforting.

“Did something pop up?”

“Negative,” Soundwave pulls his gaze from his datapad and looks to Cosmos, “I merely meant to bring back to the task at hand.”

“Oh, right,” Cosmos sighs and looks back at his monitor, a little embarrassed he’d let himself get that carried away like that.

Dr. Devereux walks up the highwalk that’s far too large for her to stop in front of Soundwave, “We’re taking a lunch break. We’ll be back in thirty.”

Soundwave nods and just like that she’s gone.

That’s been happening a lot more recently. Their human companions have left the two of them alone more often to go off and do other things. It’s starting to make Cosmos worry that something may be wrong, that he did something or that they were getting tired of working with transformers. The entire facility is hard for them to work in seeing how much larger everything is compared to them and if he thinks this place is big and empty it must be even more so for them. Overall, it’s not that he minds the time alone with Soundwave but he’s starting to like the crew and he doesn’t want to do anything to push them away.

“You needn’t worry,” Soundwave is suddenly next to him.

“What?”

“My empathy…” Soundwave begins before faltering and looking towards the viewport, “It extends somewhat to organic life as well. I know they rather like you.”

“What is it then?” Cosmos asks helplessly then a thought strikes him, “It isn’t that you are- were a Decepticon, is it?”

“No, it isn’t that either,” Soundwave looks back to him, “Not to say they weren’t cautious of me at first but with time they have come to tolerate me.”

“I suppose this is all a little surreal,” Cosmos fidgets, his hands clenching and unclenching each other.

“How so?”

“The war is over,” Cosmos breaths out with no small amount of wonder, “It’s really over and it looks like it can stay that way. That’s the weirdest part. We were enemies but everything is going so smoothly, too smoothly. I don’t know… it all feels a little rushed.”

“We were enemies,” Soundwave agrees and takes a step forward, now fully in Cosmos’s space, “War became obsolete. It is within our nature to dispose of actions deemed as such. It is logical that Autobot and Decepticon would wish to set aside conflict for a chance to live freely again.”

“Live free?” Cosmos looks up at him fully, confusion evident.

“War is its own kind of incarceration,” Soundwave says simply.

Cosmos narrows his optics at Soundwave, bemused, “That sounds to poetic to actually be coming from you.”

“The phrase,” Soundwave shifts a little, a tick Cosmos is happy to recognize as a flustered response, “It is possible that I borrowed it from Megatron.”

“Heh,” Cosmos lets out softly.

Soundwave studies him for a moment in the lull of their conversation. These are common in their conversations but neither of them ever find them to be awkward, well, not now, they certainly were awkward for Cosmos at first. Soundwave never seemed to notice the break or any hint of ever being bothered by it. Cosmos is grateful for these breaks in a strange way; they let him learn that Soundwave really doesn’t mind being around him, that he may even like being around him.

“So,” Cosmos murmurs, “why do they humans try to spend time away when they can?”

Soundwave shifts again.

“When you think about me,” Soundwave says, obviously trying to change the subject, “I know you are.”

“Oh!” Cosmos gasps, “Uh, sorry, does it bother you? I can try to do that less if it bothers you. I mean, I don’t how I can do that but I can try!”

“No,” Soundwave puts his hands up in a desperate gesture that’s expressive enough to worry Cosmos, “Please don’t misunderstand, I do not mind that you think of me. It is just with an unusual frequency without it being…”

“‘Without it being…’?”

“Malicious.”

“Oh…” Cosmos whispers in awe, “So, it’s okay then?”

“Yes,” Soundwave nods, sounding much more at ease, “I wanted you to know that I could detect the difference.”

“Why?”

“My ability often makes people feel uneasy.”

“It’s a little strange,” Cosmos admits with a light chuckle, “A little startling when you know where I am no matter what but it’s comforting in a way. It’s kind of nice to know you’ll just be… there.”

“Good,” Soundwave says and shifts a little, “I like being in your thoughts.”

Cosmos goes quiet at that, feeling the words crash against him like a wave as realization springs up seemingly out of nowhere. The quiet conversations, the steady pace, and the peace he’s been able to feel around Soundwave have all been so nice. He’s falling in love with him, he’s falling in love with Soundwave who’s an empath. Soundwave can probably feel everything he’s feeling right now and oh no-

“There is something else I thought I should inform you of,” Soundwave continues on as if Cosmos isn’t having a crisis, “It was only communicated to Decepticons as it specifically pertained to Decepticons but seeing as how it may affect you I think you should know.”

“What is it?” Cosmos spends all of his effort in keeping his voice steady.

“Lord Megatron has issued explicit permission for Decepticons to court Autobots,” Soundwave explains matter-of- factly and even the words are flat, almost cold they make Cosmos’s spark flip.

“Are-,” Cosmos resets his vocalizer as static bursts out of it, “Are you flirting with me?”  
Out of the corner of his optic, Cosmos sees Rodney enter and then promptly leave as soon as those words fall out of his vocalizer.

Soundwave stares at him wordlessly, frozen in place.

After he’s recovered himself he says, “That was not my intention but I see how you may have interpreted it in that way.”

“Oh.”

They stand like that, unspoken tension between them with no clear way to break it. Just a moment before Cosmos’s spark had been soaring but then with that clarification it was like ice water had been poured over him, cooling every one of his systems making it hard to say anything at all. He is finding it very hard to want to say anything at all. He doesn’t want to break the silence. He wants those words taken away.

“Cosmos-”

Then everything is fire. An explosion tears through the command center, ripping through metal and glass with terrible force, knocking them away. The metal hull becomes warped and shredded and a giant hole stands where most of the consoles had. Air and anything unbound is sucked out rapidly so that Soundwave barely has enough time to hold on to something to keep him on the station until all equilibrium is reached. He looks back only to see Cosmos’s unconscious form rapidly floating away as starships in the distance come out of cloak. Desperation makes him rise to action. He runs out of the command center as more shots are fired upon the station to where he knows the humans would be. They meet him halfway, shouting their confusion and distress but he doesn’t answer favoring picking them up and rushing to one of the shuttles in the docking bay as explosion continue to thunder through the base. Once in the shuttle, he takes them out then sets the autopilot. He works at another console while continuing to ignore the objections of his crew. As they continue away, they watch as the base explodes from within, Soundwave having succeeded in activating the standard self destruct set in any Decepticon base that holds sensitive information.

“Soundwave,” Rodney says softer, calmer as they all watch in awestruck horror, “where’s Cosmos?”

“He was caught in one of the initial explosions and spaced,” Soundwave responds distantly as he takes the controls.

“Is he…” Dr. Riyu begins, afraid to ask the question on the tip of her tongue.

Soundwave steers the shuttle back towards the mess of exploding parts, the remains of the station and the ships that attacked them come into view. Massive figures of molded steel with sharp angles and massive guns mounted to their hulls approach them slowly as they rush back into the fray. The humans call objections in fear as Soundwave maneuvers through shrapnel, not hearing anything their saying. All of his focus is on what is in front of him, around him. The noise clears away as an intensity the likes of which he’s never felt before overtakes him and the universe fades away to focus on a singular point. He can feel it. He’s still alive.

Newly invigorated he puts the shuttle into its fastest mode, knocking his passengers back with the sudden jolt as the shuttle shakes from the strain of the engines. Then suddenly he sees him, Cosmos, and just as quickly as before he sets the engines to idle and rushes to the back of the shuttle, closing the inner airlock behind him before anyone can object. With a push of a button he’s among the stars and pure silence overcomes him. In the distance, flares of explosions of the aftershocks of the explosions glow, the ships in the distance continue ominously. None of that matters as he reaches out as he moves slowly, too slowly to a lone green figure that is still and looks almost lifeless. Fear grips his spark as he continues forth, even though he knows he’s alive he still needs to get there. The tips of his fingers finally brush cold plating and as he gets closer still he draws Cosmos’s form to himself tightly, promising to no one specific to never let go. He finally uses the air jetpack he grabbed almost as an afterthought and maneuvers them back to the shuttle.

Once back on the shuttle he looks over Cosmos, still ignoring the cries of his crew. He runs his hand over the side of Cosmos’s face, relief filling him as he finds the damage done is superficial at worst. He stands up and once again goes to the controls to find the attention of the battlecruisers have finally landed upon their little shuttle.

“What do we do now?” Dr. Devereux asks seriously as her colleagues go silent once more.

Soundwave looks down to her, “We run.”

In the distance they can see the guns warming back up, gun barrels flaring red from within now pointing right at them. Whoever is on those ships, they clearly don’t want any survivors. Soundwave begins steering them away only to find large chunks of the station surrounding them every which way; there’s nowhere to go. He looks on helplessly as the guns continue to charge up and looks down at his crew apologetically and he can tell that they’ve come to the same conclusion as he has. He stands up and walks to the unconscious form of Cosmos and sits down next to him, pulling him close. What else was there to do now that he had trapped them?

Suddenly, a flash of light rips through space and more ships come into the fray, brilliant vessels of deep red, dark blue, and gold. They fire upon the battlecruisers and annihilate their foes, leaving not much more than scraps of shielding and flooring clinging to the skeletal structure of the supports of the ships. The ships that had attacked the station had clearly been built for stealth and not heavy, head on combat. The crew breath an unsteady breath of relief unsure if the new arrivals are friend or foe.

A crackle of static comes from communications and Soundwave let’s the message through.

“Come in, shuttle of Sigma-4, come in,” a feminine voice comes out of the speakers.

“This is Soundwave, I read you,” he responds and hears a sigh of relief.

“This is Windblade, General of the Camien forces,” she continues as the ships come towards them slowly, bumping shredded base and starship gently out of the way, “we’ve come to help. Please hold your position, we’re on our way.”

“Thank you, General,” Soundwave slumps heavily against the panel, “I am in your debt.”

Once on the ship, no talking is done no matter how much Soundwave tries to insist he can update them on the situation he’s sent to recharge in a habsuite with Cosmos in the berth next to him and that, at least, brings him some relief. He’s grateful that the Camiens insist that he rests because he truly does feel utterly and completely drained mentally if not physically. This little Autobot has become far too important to him and he just can’t find it in himself to let go. He is astonished at himself for how far he was willing to go for Cosmos but he could never imagine doing anything different because, in the end, it had all worked out. The shame of his lapse in judgement will never leave him and he dreads the report he has to give Lord Megatron but at the same time he just can’t care about all of that because Cosmos is right there an arm’s length away. He reaches out and puts his hand on Cosmos’s helm briefly, a light, fleeting touch before retracting his hand and falling into recharge. The fight can wait for tomorrow.

Cosmos wakes up and feels disoriented from the unexpected gravity he feels on his frame and sits up groggily, assessing his surroundings. He’s in his room back on Earth in the U.S. base in Nevada. Once realizing this, he lays back heavily against his berth, cursing his processor for giving him that crazy, almost wonderful dream he’d just had. After a bit of grumbling, he gets out of berth for what is surely just going to just be another boring day. As he gets up a shadow just across from the room catches his eye and he turns to look and finds Soundwave leaning against the wall next to the door. Cosmos ever so subtly pinches himself and flinches slightly at the pain meaning that this was real. Soundwave pushes off the wall and walks up to Cosmos silently.

“You’re awake,” Soundwave observes.

“I am,” Cosmos agrees lamely.

Soundwave hesitates for moment before turning around while saying, “We’re needed in the council room. We have to give our report.”

“R-right,” Cosmos stumbles as he rushes to keep up.

In the council room the entirety of Autobot and Decepticon high command and some intimidating mechs that Cosmos had never seen before all sit in the large council room in deathly quiet, seemingly all waiting for their arrival. Cosmos feels a coldness run down his spinal strut as he looks upon his worst nightmare (other than a Decepticon torture chamber). A firm hand rests on his shoulder and he looks to Soundwave standing tall next to him and a rush of relief and confidence quells his fear.

“They should not have been able to sneak up on us like that,” Soundwave begins, getting straight to the point, “They have tech that was able to evade every scanner we had. This tells us we need to be ready for anything and everything. Who knows what other toys Overlord has?”

“This is deeply troubling,” Optimus agrees and looks to their guests, “How did you know they were going to attack the station, General Windblade?”

“We didn’t,” she confesses and Cosmos can’t help but stare at her beautiful red finish and intricate helm, “It had been pure luck that we were able to make it in time to save them. I thank Primus that we were there.”

Cosmos notes the visible twitch Megatron makes at the genuine thanks to their god that he suppresses and says, “You were already coming here? Why?”

“We heard the Autobots and Decepticons had finally declared peace between each other,” the tough-looking blue mech just behind Windblade explains as she places a hand on her general’s shoulder that is immediately embraced, “We are without a true leader and our forces won’t be able to last out forever, especially if Overlord manages to win.”

“You’ve come to offer aid?” Elita-1 asks, immediately perking up with interest.

“No,” Windblade shakes her head solemnly, “we have come to swear ourselves to Optimus and Megatron.”

Optimus and Megatron reel back at that and share a look, completely astonished by her sudden proclamation. Elita raises quirks her brow at them, a smug and amused smirk adorning her face that makes Optimus recoil in on himself. Megatron looks at Soundwave who only shrugs in response leaving his lord to look at their guests with a serious, almost helpless expression.

“We’re happy to welcome you of course,” Megatron tries carefully, “but I must ask… why? Why swear loyalty? I understand that there are strength in numbers but fending off Overlord would only require a temporary allegiance.”

“It is because…” Windblade pauses, biting her lip.

“Go ahead, tell them,” her ward urges her.

“Our priestess claims she had a vision that she has convinced everyone is true,” Windblade sigh, “It is a vision of a grand empire the likes which none of us have ever known led by two grand emperors. She believes them to be you. She believes that you will bring peace and prosperity. Uh, Chromia? If you would?”

“The people are being complete pains and insist that Windblade, the main voice of authority other than the priestess, not only ally ourselves but become subserviant to you and your noble cause,” Chromia bites out, “They even threatened to strip her of her position. Strip her of the ability to protect their gullible afts if she didn’t do so. So, please, accept our oath otherwise the blame will be put on Windblade.”

Optimus stands up at this and looks Windblade in the eye with a sympathetic look, “Then of course we accept. Who are we to refuse such a generous offer of help?”

Windblade stands up and walk over to them causing Megatron to stand up as well. Surprising everyone in the room yet again, Windblade kneels before Optimus and Megatron and lowers her head.

“Then I shall serve you until my time to return to the Allspark comes,” she swears, sounding as though she means every word.

Megatron reaches down quickly and helps her to her feet.

“You don’t need to do that,” he says clearly uncomfortable, “what you had pledged was already enough. You shall continue being a general among our forces. I hope I may look to you for advice in both combat and how to better incorporate your people’s ways.”

Windblade smiles up at him, looking like the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders.

“Speaking of which,” Chromia cuts in, “what do you all call yourselves now?”

“Uh,” Megatron and Optimus both hum and look at each other, unsure of what to say.

What do they call themselves now?


	10. Shadows and Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimus has a bad day and a restless night.

The united forces of the Decepticons and Autobots are not what Windblade was expecting. Indeed, even having to call them that had been a surprise. She had been informed by Optimus and Megatron that they did not actually have an official title for the union and it had been in such a way that lead her to believe they have barely even considered such a thing if at all. It was almost as though that even after the obvious dramatic changes they’ve made that underneath it all they all still expected this to fall apart, expected to be driven apart once more. A tinge of something akin to sadness had clouded Megatron’s strong tenor when he had to tell her how even with an agreement of complete unification they are still, somehow, separate. Initially, she chalked it up to what any leader would feel in such a situation: a kind of failure of the self but then she watched him carefully, keen on getting a better understanding of the mech that was supposedly to become one of her people’s new emperors. That is when she sees it, the lingering touches, the careful gaze, the pride and joy; all of the agonizing details are clear in front of her that can only mean one thing. Megatron is in love with Optimus and he fears it.

He is so terribly afraid. All of the recent decisions he has made for his people have been beyond life changing and now that he has developed these feelings he is doubting the actual influences behind these decisions. This realization rattles Windblade to the core and makes her search for answers among the archives kept by both the Autobots and the Decepticons. What she finds is a long and harrowing history between the two mechs that have been a near constant in each other’s lives even before the war, even before they first met on the battlefield. They had both been revolutionaries that had even had a tentative relationship of friendship until disaster struck, tearing them apart and flinging them into a seemingly endless war. Bombings and violent murders had been the sparks to fires of war and there had been no turning back. It all makes her spark ache as she reads through account after account of the horrors they have inflicted upon each other allowing her to formulate the beginnings of an understanding of the fear that everyone has of falling apart. They all want this desperately, that much is clear if the gentle touches and secret, whispered words of those who had once been on opposite factions were anything to go by.

Walking through the halls and through the main areas, she could only see joy and beauty that all promised of what could be. She sees the two mechs she had helped save from Sigma-4 whose names are Soundwave and Cosmos if she remembers correctly, talking quietly to one another in the peaceful quiet of the Commons. An autobot scientist had said his temporary farewells to Megatron’s second-in-command with a kiss believing them to be out of sight. One of Optimus’s top generals, Elita-1 spars joyfully with a decepticon soldier who she learns is called Grimlock as Elita shouts the name with a playful taunt and when she beats him soundly there is only laughter and a promise for a rematch. She watches as Optimus and Megatron’s own amare joke together, filling her spark with warmth and hope. And yet, the fear is still present, hiding beneath the surface threatening to break through. So, she makes a decision.

“I know that look,” Chromia grumbles beside her, pulling her into an embrace, “You’re up to something.”

“While the validity of the priestess’s vision is still in question, she was right to send us here,” Windblade explains as she wraps her arms around the back of her conjunx’s neck.

“I agree,” Chromia says resolutely, “We all need to fight together to stop this menace.”

“And beyond that we can act as a buffer between the Decepticons and Autobots.”

“A buffer?” Chromia looks down at Windblade with an amused quirk to her lips, “If you ask me they’re getting along just fine.”

“They still see themselves as Decepticons and Autobots, Chromia,” Windblade’s eyes look down with the ache she feels in her spark, “We have to make sure they don’t fall apart when all is said and done.”

Chromia puts a hand under Windblade’s chin and gently brings her face up to meet her eyes, “If anyone can do it, you can.”

“Thank you,” Windblade sighs to calm herself, “And you’ll help me?”

“Always,” Chromia whispers and presses a gentle kiss to Windblade’s lips.

Windblade leans into her, basking in the strength and solidity of her conjunx and lets it envelope her so she may yet borrow some of that stability.

Optimus rushes quickly from his office with Arcee at his heels, fury and exhaustion weighing on his frame from the latest developments. All of their forces need to be called back so they concentrate the coming fight to the US not only to draw Overlord’s attention away from other areas but because the UN had denied them the permission to deploy anymore forces then those that already occupied the agreed upon bases. It was good then that they had already moved their main operations into the US. He has had to make several calls to the leaders of all the bases to settle affairs and organize transport in addition to taking stock of the armaments that each base could provide. Another meeting was scheduled to meet with General Ngo to revise or rehash their plans for the coming battle that felt ever nearer. Thankfully, the Camiens had stalled Overlord’s assault for the time being but that would only last so long. Along with the stall, the Camiens have added significant numbers to their forces in addition to battleships in orbit around Earth that would be indispensable.

Arcee helps him juggle the datapads of all the details that still felt like they were in complete chaos but her notes and additional organization help him make better sense of it all. They eventually reach Megatron’s office and dumps his share on to his desk without much more than a word of acknowledgment and then they’re off again, load significantly lighter. Then they reach Ratchet in his medbay and hand off a datapad confirming the shipments of the supplies to restock his stores and before he can leave the medic sits him down with a look that makes Optimus stay in his seat. The medic walks away to tend to what patients he has leaving Optimus and Arcee to continue to fuss over the remaining paperwork. They manage to get a good portion of it done before Ratchet comes back and pulls up his own chair to face them. Optimus continues to furiously tap away at his datapads, determined to get this work done before the day is out and doesn’t notice Ratchet trying to get his attention until the pad in his hands is carefully tugged out of his grip. He looks up at the medic indignantly and hears Arcee stifle a chuckle at his side.

“You need to take a break, Optimus,” Ratchet grouches, giving no room for argument, “You’ve been working all day with barely any fuel.”

“There’s just so much to do-”

“It’ll still be there Optimus,” Ratchet sighs, “I know we’re on a time crunch but we need you at your best. You know that.”

“Ratchet-”

“He’s right, Optimus,” Arcee cuts in, silencing whatever argument had been at the tip of his tongue.

“Well, now that that’s settled,” Ratchet puts the datapad to the side, “How about we actually talk about what’s been going on.”

“Windblade had a point,” Optimus leans heavily on his arms now resting on his thighs, “We need a title to unify under. We’ve gone too long without one already.”

“That’s true,” Arcee hums in contemplation, “but I don’t think that’s what Ratchet meant.”

“What I’m talking about is Megatron,” Ratchet says, leaning back and crossing his arms.

“What about Megatron,” Optimus sits up straighter, trepidation filling his voice.

“You two have hardly been at each other’s throats like I thought you would be,” Ratchet smirks, seeing how his words are getting under the Prime’s plating.

“I’m going to go workshop possible titles with Strika and Elita,” Arcee quickly gets up with some of the datapads as she excuses herself, “you two have fun though.”

When Arcee is gone, Optimus leans in towards his friend and hisses out, “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Sure,” Ratchet laughs, “Just… unexpected.”

“Why don’t you just spit out what you’re trying to say?”

“I’ve seen two mechs wind themselves up before,” Ratchet shrugs, “Just knowing the two of you it could end up being a lot messier if that tension is released in… ways less than beneficial to our currently fragile political climate.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Optimus lets out in frustration, “Is that what you want me to do?”

“I want you to do whatever you think is appropriate for fixing whatever this thing is with Megatron without causing the complete collapse of everything we’ve worked on,” Ratchet says pointedly.

“You want to talk about tension that can go in bad ways? How about we talk about Deadlock?” Optimus bites out, his stress clearly getting to him.

“Deadlock?” Ratchet’s mood immediately shifts, concerned by Optimus’s implications, “Is there something going on with him Rodimus? Is everything okay?”

“Deadlock and Rodimus are great,” Optimus reassures him before hitting him with, “I’m talking about what he feels about you.”

“Me?” Ratchet laughs, “So I knocked him down a notch after he fought Grimlock of all mechs to try and impress Rodimus. So what?”

“He wasn’t trying to impress Rodimus, Ratchet,” Optimus smirks with a glint to his optics, “He was trying to impress you.”

Ratchet studies him, disbelief clearly written on his face, “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” Optimus laughs, “Rodimus assured me of this.”

“Since when were you two so open with each other?”

“Since I made him my Amare, officially.”

“You…” Ratchet shakes his head, smiling, “Well I’m glad joining up with the Decepticons has been good for something.”

“Yes,” Optimus smiles, a bittersweet light filling his optics, “I should have let him in sooner, shouldn’t I?”

“Better late than never,” Ratchet pats his shoulder.

“I’m serious, though. Deadlock is quite enamored by you.”

“No he isn’t,” Ratchet laughs, “he can’t be.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m…” Ratchet trails off in favor of gesturing to his person.

“A capable medic? A stocky, attractive mech? A serious individual who doesn’t take slag from anyone?” Optimus grins cheekily at his friend.

“I’m not worth anybody’s time, Optimus, not in that sense,” Ratchet looks away, a deep frown forming on his lips.

“I think Deadlock would argue otherwise,” Optimus rests a hand on Ratchet’s shoulder that’s moved away gently.

“Alright, I think that was a long enough break,” Ratchet stands up and Optimus rises to join him, “I’m going to get back to work too.”

As Ratchet walks away, Optimus calls after him, “Think about it at least.”

A wave of a hand is the only response he gets and he’s off again, this time to Prowl’s office to drop off the finished datapads for review.  
Ratchet’s words of warning swarm his mind and reconfirm some of his own fears that had begun to encroach on the edges of his thoughts ever since the discussion they had when the DJD had decided to attack. He hadn’t realized it had gotten quite so bad, bad enough that Ratchet felt it necessary to intervene so that he didn’t blow this just because he and Megatron were having some difficulties. All in all, he had thought things had been going pretty well barring their talk and the awkwardness that sometimes came up during their talks and the times where it seems as though Megatron wants to say something but doesn’t and the issue of what is acceptable in terms of physical contact between them. Alright, Ratchet is right. Something has happened and he has been completely blind to it, distracted by his duties to lead their combined forces and dealing with whatever Overlord threw at them next. Frustration builds anew within him. Why can’t anyone just tell him when something is wrong?

Lost in his thoughts, he bursts into Prowl’s office without warning and when he looks up what he sees makes him freeze. Prowl is laid out on his desk, legs spread wide to accommodate Shockwave who’s looming over him as he pants, thoroughly debauched and split wide by Shockwave’s spike. Cables tangle between them, all of them plugged into various ports along their chassis adding to lewdness of the scene making heat rise to Optimus’s faceplate. He meets Shockwave’s optic, unable to read the expression of the former con and notices while Prowl was looking in his direction he didn’t seem to see Optimus, optics and mind undoubtedly clouded by pleasure. Optimus quickly sets down the datapads and raises his hands.

“You know what?” Optimus says as he quickly turns around, “I didn’t see anything.”

He taps the pad by the door on his way out so it’ll lock as well as shut behind him.

Once out of the office he takes a deep vent in and tries to purge the image from his mind, shock and confusion erasing all other thought. Arcee spots him in his distress and comes over to put a soothing hand on his arm, concern written on her face. He shakes his head and waves her off, standing up straight.

“Are you alright?” Arcee asks softly.

“I’m going to go recharge for a while,” Optimus declares and quickly walks to his habsuite.

He makes it to his habsuite without further incident and when he enters he doesn’t even bother to turn on the light. All he does is lock the door and falls into his berth, emotionally and mentally exhausted. He thinks of battle strategy and supply runs, focusing on work than whatever insanity was slowly surrounding him and fails spectacularly. The significance of Prowl of all mechs interfacing with Shockwave -a debatably more inane option- crashes into him, knocking the air from his vents making him choke and cough. He clutches his helm, as reality swallows him whole. There would be no separating after they faced Overlord, he realizes and a coil of guilt curls around his spark as he pieces together that he was counting on them falling apart after Overlord was killed. He had initiated this peace so that his soldiers wouldn’t have to fight anymore, so that they could live without fear of dying any day in the tide of war and yet, here he is selfishly hoping for all his efforts to be for not just so he wouldn’t have to face himself, face what he has done. Megatron has to stare the results of his past sins in the face with the DJD and Overlord, a far more terrifying prospect than Optimus’s struggle of slighted morals now seemingly simple by comparison. A crackle rips through his throat, half a sob and half a broken off scream as the struggle tightens his chassis, making him tense up as though to push the feeling away.

Nothing he could do now could ever make up for the lives he has taken and nothing could ever soothe the pain. Memories of every fight flash through his mind, the face of every mech he’s killed appear like specters behind his shut optics for he’d never be able to forget them. One memory stands clear above the torrent of them all: the day Megatron had walked away, angry and betrayed, the day he did not reach out for him. Eventually, the storm of emotions and memories exhausts him into stasis and the world goes dark.

His optics open to a dimly lit room. The only light being a soft red glow of recharge systems beneath the berth he lays on. A figure encircled by shadow and barely visible leans over him but he finds himself unafraid because somewhere in the back of his sleep addled mind he knows that this mech will not hurt him, that he’s safe. Black servos outlined by the red light grip his hips firmly but nowhere near the point of pain and fingers dig carefully into sensitive seams making him gasp as they lazily slide along protoform. The figure doesn’t seem to be inclined to rush and spends a good deal of time just watching him as he writhes with pleasure beneath their attentive touch. Then, a massive chassis presses against his as the skilled hands find the panel above his interface array and red optics, glowing like embers in the darkness meet his. Optimus traces the outlines of their face, still out of focus, frustratingly so and moans as the fingers open his panel and slide over his valve lips. A nose ridge presses affectionately into his own followed by a deep chuckle he knows too well and just like that the face is no longer completely shrouded by darkness.

Megatron. Instead of feeling panic or disgust, lust and longing rush through his lines like liquid fire although shock from it all mixes into it as well. Soft derma tease along his faceplate as a rumble from above reverberates through his frame.

“Optimus,” Megatron whispers against his neck cables, almost like he was saying a prayer, “I’m yours.”

“Megatron?” Optimus gasps out, confused then forgets his concern as fingers plunge into his valve.

“Now and forever, Optimus,” the deep tenor of Megatron’s voice rumbles just against his audial, “just say the word.”

“What?” Optimus whispers as he can barely think as Megatron’s fingers work inside of him.

“Rule by my side, be my conjunx, be my everything,” Megatron says, almost as though he were begging but he never begs, “just say yes.”

“Megatron I-,” Optimus is cut off as overload takes him, not really knowing what he was going to say.

His eyes open as he wakes up, sitting up quickly, gasping for air to cool his hot frame. A dream. I was just a dream. He puts a hand to his face and drags it down, calming down. That was certainly something he didn’t need in his processor at all, ever.

He gets off his berth and freezes. It may have just been a dream but it certainly did have an effect on him. He decides that he should take a quick trip to the washracks and then get back to work. With that thought in mind, he pushes away the dream, thinking nothing of it. It was just a result from the stress he’s been under and a good overload always does wonders for that. Also, why wouldn’t it have been Megatron? He had been on his mind practically all the time nowadays and his mind in an attempt to do a thorough defrag had simply dumped Megatron into a fantasy so he could relieve at least some amount of stress. The idea of it all, while embarrassing, was not illogical.

Rodimus was starting to regret his decision now that he was slowly realizing he had no idea what he was doing. He had thought that it would be a good idea to get used to making appearances with Thunderclash and so had dived head first as he’s wont to do and invited Thunderclash to just go for a walk around the base they had to move to for strategic purposes. Thunderclash had been more than happy to accept and seemed to be enjoying the desert landscape that went on for miles around the base. So far, that had been the most exciting thing that’s happened on their little walk as Rodimus had constantly tried and failed to come up with something, anything to talk about. The only reason he had thought to take Thunderclash on a walk was so they could be visible by people at the base but be far enough away that they wouldn’t actually have to act like a couple but now trying to have even just a casual conversation was evading him. Thankfully, Thunderclash didn’t seem to mind but he still couldn’t help but feel ridiculous for not being able to manage even small talk with Thunderclash of all people. He had lost his nerve sometime when they had first started stepping out onto the red sand, beginning their short trek alone with barely anyone watching. It actually felt somewhat intimate. The realization that this is the first time he’s ever been completely alone with Thunderclash certainly didn’t help.

“Are you alright?” Thunderclash puts a hand on his arm, jarring him, “You’ve been rather quiet.”

“Yeah, just thinking,” Rodimus bluffs, looking away from the open, honest expression Thunderclash is giving him.

“What about?”

Rodimus chews his lower derma then says, “How do you want to do this?”

“The fake relationship?” Thunderclash asks, looking for confirmation and when Rodimus nods his head his expression turns thoughtful, “I don’t know.”

“That’s helpful,” Rodimus scoffs, relieved he’s not the only clueless one.

“Well…” Thunderclash turns his head away and a warm color rises to his face, “How may I touch you?”

Rodimus’s spark does an involuntary flip and he squeaks out, “Excuse me?”

“I mean in terms of PDA!” Thunderclash quickly back peddles, waving his hands frantically, “I didn’t mean…”

Rodimus can’t help it, he laughs hard as Thunderclash shrinks in on himself in embarrassment.

Rodimus calms down some and upon seeing the mortified look on Thunderclash’s face he decides to take mercy on the poor mech, quietly saying, “Hey.”

“Hm?”

Rodimus holds out his hand to Thunderclash, “How about we just try this for right now?”

Thunderclash looks between Rodimus’s face and his hand a few times before slowly and carefully bringing his own hand up making Rodimus huff, bemused.

“C’mon,” he teases, “I’m not gonna bite.”

With that, Thunderclash wraps his hand around Rodimus’s, the slowness of the gesture making it strangely intimate. Once fully in Thunderclash’s grasp, the size difference between them becomes very noticeable along with the sheer strength that Thunderclash posses. Powerful mechanisms flex beneath Rodimus’s touch, hinting at the power that Thunderclash had at his disposal and yet the grip on his hand is impossibly gentle, almost reverent like his hand was the most precious thing in this world. The sensation of it all was beginning to make Rodimus light headed and he looks up from his hand to Thunderclash. When he meets red optics looking at him with kindness or something it feels like invisible walls are rapidly crumbling around him and dread fills his spark. He’s in Thunderclash’s grasp, and he never wants him to let go. Without thinking, he leans against Thunderclash’s broad chest and sighs feeling his ire melt away completely, forgetting his jealousy. An arm comes up and wraps around him, his hand still in that gentle hold and it all feels strangely like coming home.

“Rodimus?” Thunderclash asks, sounding nervous.

“Hm?” Rodimus hums, feeling warm and enjoying the soft vibrations of Thunderclash’s voice.

“Does this mean hand holding is acceptable?”

“Very.”

Thunderclash pulls away, and Rodimus finds himself missing the touch immediately.

“We probably need to head back,” Thunderclash breaks the moment with a smile, oblivious to Rodimus’s internal thoughts.

“Uh, yeah,” Rodimus mutters as the dread returns full force.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You don’t seem quite yourself,” Thunderclash rests his hands on Rodimus’s shoulders, looking him over.

“I’m good!” Rodimus forces himself to chipper up and starts marching back towards the base, “Just, a lot on my mind with Overlord and everything.”

“It is rather a lot,” Thunderclash catches up with him easily.

“Also…” Rodimus slows down some, suddenly contemplative.

“Also?”

“Optimus made me his Amare.”

When Thunderclash doesn’t respond he looks over to see his face frozen in fear that surprises a laugh out of him.

“So you know what it means?” Rodimus says between laughs.

“Yes,” Thunderclash gulps, “It means I must be on my best behaviour.”

“Don’t worry,” Rodimus waives away his concern and pats his arm, “he knows about what’s going on.”

“Still,” Thunderclash insists.

“You’ll be fine,” Rodimus assures him and when they reach the base he begins to part ways with Thunderclash while calling over his shoulder, “You’re the Greatest Autobot of All Time afterall.”

What Rodimus misses as he walks away is Thunderclash about to protest with a hand reached out towards the speedster before he decides against it. He clutches his hand -the one that had held his- to his chest against the spot Rodimus had leaned against, missing the warmth. Fear prickles at the edges of Thunderclash’s optics as he begins to doubt if he can really come out of this unscathed.


	11. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overlord is here.

Optimus arrived to the meeting as he always does: calm, collected, even a bot regal. He always has to put on airs around his officers and such a presence has only become even more necessary that two have become one. That’s what all of this is about after all, the unification. This meeting shall be a determining point in this matter. A suggestion from Lieutenant Adobowale’s own daughter for what the united forces should call themselves had been gaining traction among the ranks and it is simply a matter of them making it official. Optimus had felt no small amount of relief to discover that the responsibility of coming up with something suitable to call themselves was no longer his own. Megatron seems to share his sentiments as he fiddles with the datapad with the declaration on it as Prowl covers the daily report, impatient for him to get on with it already. His black servos tense and relax against the tablet as his large shoulders roll shallowly as to hopefully avid detection and his optics, his red, burning optics are set in a firm gaze. Megatron’s mouth tightens in a half grimace that erases the image of the hardened warlord and reveals some of the aspirational miner that lays beneath.

“Optimus?” Prowl gestures to him, suddenly done with the announcements.

“Ah,” Optimsu tries to hide his surprise, “Yes, I suppose we should continue.”

Megatron hands him the datapad, their hands touch in the exchange and he can feel Megatron’s fingers linger ever so faintly on his before he pulls away. Feeling dizzy and confused, Optimus clears his intake and looks over the datapad.

“It’s just a superficial matter but it must be done and it will need a consensus,” OPtimus addresses them all feeling almost giddy, “It is becoming a popular idea among those have heard it so, I would like to officially propose that our forces be called the Retrimechs thus officially uniting us all, a declaration that we will never part again.”

He looks around the room to find it still and quiet. As the silence draws on, nervousness spikes along his circuits.

“Well,” Starscream stands from his chair, “glad that’s settled then.”

Optimus frowns at him and he jolts before waving a hand over to his colleagues.

“Do you hear any objections?” Starscream huffs, “The only ones who need to think it’s a good name is you and Megatron. If you call it good the rest of us shall follow.”

“He’s right,” Elita grumbles and everyone turns to look at her, “what?”

“Nothing,” Arcee says with a laugh that surprises even her, “I just never thought that I’d see the day that you would be agreeing with starscream of all people.”

“Agreed,” Bumblebee smiles cheekily.

Optimus turns to Megatron at a loss only to be met with an amused smirk and a shrug. The Prime sighs as a kind of joy he hasn’t known in a while fills his spark. They’re the Retrimechs. A title they have now taken on with surprising ease, a testament to the exhaustion they all feel, a testament to that which they shall now aspire. They will seek retribution for the lives lost in bouts of anger and ignorance. It will not be taken on by any one mech, however, they shall all take on together and that is now their defining call. It is a declaration of a better future, a future they shall share.

Megatron holds out a hand to him, tentative and half hidden by the table so that perhaps the others may not see. To offer contact, to ask for it catches Optimus off guard. He’s put so off guard that all he just blinks slowly for a moment as his mind catches up with reality. Then he takes Megatron’s hand and it feels like coming home.

The building shakes around them as alarms begin to blare to life. Crashing sounds of heavy footfall and soldiers gearing up for battle echoes through the halls. Without much more encouragement, all of the officers take to the chaos to find out what’s going on and to organize their troops. Optimus and Megatron pass them by to rush out onto the field, ready to lead the front line only to behold witness to the terror that Overlord’s fleet has unleashed unto the Camien ships. Hulls of once elegant warships are ablaze with explosions and laser fire. Some begin to fall almost lazily back to Earth alight from the inside out with escape pods ejecting from the sides to the desert sands below. Hunter ships from Overlord’s ships begin to attack and destroy the pods mercilessly. Acting upon instinct and having seen enough, the two lords work as one, calling out orders to seekers to defend the escape pods and for soldiers to prepare anti-aircraft guns for the inevitable assault.

Their first line of defense has been broken and their forces have now been severely depleted. Even with a new title to rally behind, such a gesture could never make up for a hit to morale as extreme as this. They’ve been caught completely off guard with their new allies suffering greatly for it. Optimus can see the weight of it on his troops, knowing he has to do something or they’d lose the battle of wills and then the battle itself. The former Decepticons around him are driven by fury alone as they take to the commands of Megatron as they always have, as they must or be crushed beneath the weight of war. Optimus calls for a squad of piloted infiltration ships to be prepared and rushes to the hanger. He climbs into the seat of his ship that’s so familiar now as it has miraculously survived the war thus far. Turning on engines and warming weapon systems, he prepares to lead them into the fray. Then, a hand lands on his shoulder that jolts him from his concentrated state.

“What are you thinking,” Megatron demands.

“If we make up for the break in the Camien fleet we may be able to take one of the cruisers and turn the tide,” Optimus explains as his hands move in a flurry of motion, not breaking from his task.

“That’s madness,” Megatron grabs his hands to force him to stop, “You’ll just get yourself killed and what then?”

“If we allow this to turn into a fight where we’re just fighting from the ground with Overlord laying waste from the to our forces from above then the war will be over before it has even truly begun,” Optimus insists, his words are harsh and determined as he squeezes Megatron’s hands in his.

Megatron’s gaze flickers between Optimus’s optics with his face set into a scowl then he releases Optimus’s hands looking as though he’s made a decision. He then sits in the co-pilot’s chair.

“What are you doing?” Optimus asks as he watches Megatron continue with the launch sequence.

“I’m coming with you, you daft fool,” Megatron spits out angrily.

As Optimus watches him a pleased flutter lights up his spark. Megatron notices the attention and does a double take between Optimus and the controls.

“Stop smiling! We’re in the middle of battle,” Megatron shouts.

Optimus returns to action but he just can’t seem to wipe the stupid grin off his face.

It’s a rocky ride into orbit but Optimus can’t find it in himself to mind. For the first time in a long time, charging into battle feels right, like it’s what he’s meant to do. They manage to break into the fray and disperse Overlord’s forces, providing cover for the escaping Camiens and allowing smaller fighters to begin probing the enemy front. Information and commands flow easily between them as they ride the wave of battle until they finally reach an opening to one of the large battle cruisers. Without any hesitation or need for communication they steer the ship into the docking bay, the very belly of the beast. They blast their way through once in the bay, making mechs leap out of the way left and right while others get caught in the maelstrom of laser fire. Munitions are set off and cause even more casualties. In the chaos they disembark together, guns blazing and energy weapons at the ready. Fighting through the bay with Megatron begins to feel like a dance. They’ve fought against each other for so long they’ve become well acquainted with the fighting style and movements of their counterpart. 

They fight back to back in the torrent of bodies, defending each other from oncoming attackers and laser fire. They move smoothly and gracefully into one of the many throughways on the ship and continue on to make their way to the command deck. Feeling the strong presence of Megatron fighting right next to him feels right, like it was meant to be. He never realized how much he needed this, to know that he and Megatron would work so wonderfully together in battle. He had no idea how much he had wanted this. Optimus would never have guessed how he had craved… Another mech takes aim for Megatron’s helm and Optimus quickly dispatches him, feeling his roar in defiance. He will not accept anyone killing Megatron now, not ever. His rage breaks when he feels Megatron tug him through another door which turns out to be the command deck they had been mindlessly charging for. Megatron hastily breaks the control panel to the door and then they let loose on the room, killing off all the mechs at the controls who had been stunned to see them. Clearly, none of them had thought they could ever make it this far but it's them, so of course they made it. Once the last mech falls, they take to the controls and turn the cruiser on to its own side and begin to flank the other ships. The Camien cruisers follow suit, allowing them to take down two cruisers. In the end, however hard they try, the commandship and several of the other cruisers retreat, aided by cover fire and escape to another corner of the planet. 

It isn’t a complete victory but they’ve managed to stave off the worst of it for now. They sigh as they watch the ships leave the battlefield and the first of the medical ships make their way to heavily damaged warships. They turn to each other, relief and joy clear on their faces. Before Optimus knows what’s happening, Megatron is upon him, holding him close in a tight embrace that he returns happily. He feels his spark whirl rapidly in his chassis. When has this ever been possible before? Could they have been like this without the war? He pulls back enough to look up at Megatron, feeling his faceplates strain with the pull of his smile in perfect view for Megatron to see, battlemask forgotten somewhere along the way. Megatron looks taken aback by something before smiling back at him with his optics creasing with joy. With his own spark, he reaches out for Megatron’s, happy to find it pulsing just as fast while feeling Megatron’s hands tighten at his sides.

A sound at the door breaks the joyful tension in the air and they quickly pull away from each other to aim their weapons at the door. When the doors open with a horrible screech and heavy clank, a familiar, brightly painted form stumbles through. Rodimus rapidly puts his hands up when met with the barrels of their pistols.

“Whoa!” he cries out, “It’s me!”

They breath out in relief and lower their weapons.

“The ship is ours then,” Optimus rumbles pleasantly.

“Yeah,” Rodimus draws out slowly as he side steps over a body to get closer to them, “Thanks mostly to you two. Do you guys realize how terrifying you two are when you’re actually working together?”

Megatron and Optimus share a knowing look then Optimus steps to Rodimus and pulls him into a brief hug then pats his shoulder.

“Come on,” Optimus smiles down at his Amare, feeling light and giddy, “Let’s plan our next move.”

Rodimus smiles back at him and hugs him, caught up in the sudden tide of good feelings only for the rest of his squad to walk in at that very moment. He quickly leaps back and clears his intake.

“Ah, yes, of course,” Rodimus nods and side eyes his quietly chuckling squadmates.

The sudden attack was not doing any favors for Ratchet’s nerves and neither was a hovering Deadlock. From the moment the fighting had ended, patient after patient filed into his medbay making him more than a little grateful for the recent resupply. Along with the patients came an energon stained Deadlock fresh from the fight looking between Ratchet and the patients, clearly unsure of what to do. Unfortunately for Ratchet, he’s just enough out of the way as to not be a hindrance but there enough that Ratchet couldn’t ignore him or the superficial injuries on his pauldrons or how he had stressed the welds on his chest or how he looks low on fuel. The moment Ratchet has his last patient that came in in critical condition stabilized, he’s rushing over to Deadlock. At least the mech as the decency to look embarrassed and doesn’t complain about the rough treatment as Ratchet has him seated on a medical berth. Ratchet shoves some medical grade energon into his servo and orders him to drink up while he begins to patch up his pauldrons. Deadlock obediently drinks the energon while doing his best to stay still under Ratchet’s care but flinches when Ratchet’s hands land on his chest making him almost spill the energon. Ratchet frowns at the response, then continues to look over the old injuries before pulling away, satisfied that nothing had become too irritated or any that had opened back up.

“Tender?” Ratchet asks, all business.

“No,” Deadlock shakes his head and doesn’t meet his optics.

Ratchet huffs and sits down next to Deadlock.

“Want to tell me why you came here?” Ratchet bumps his arm gently, “Any regular field medic could’ve patched you up.”

“I wanted to check on you,” Deadlock fidgets with his hands, still not looking at the medic.

“Check on me,” Ratchet barked out a laugh, “I’m a medic. I’m as far from the action as you can get.”

“The enemy ships were still firing when the medical units were sent out. One was even hit. Well, that I saw anyway… I was afraid it had been yours,” Deadlock explains, his voice growing airy with the echo of his fears.

“Well,” Ratchet grins and puts a hand to the back of his own helm , “I suppose I should be flattered that a big, bad Decepticon was worried over a nobody like me.”

“You’re much more than that,” Deadlock declares in an almost desperate tone while grabbing Ratchet’s free hand.

He finally dares to look at the medic, his red optics aglow with an intensity Ratchet hadn’t been expecting but there’s still something vulnerable about it.

“I appreciate that,” Ratchet tries to reassure him, a little unsettled by his display.

“And I’m not a Decepticon,” Deadlock insists and squeezes Ratchet’s hand firmly but gently, “I’m a Retrimech now and so are you.”

“Oh yeah…” Ratchet looks away in thought, “The announcement went around during the beginning of the fight so it must’ve not fully have registered for me.”

“Is that why you refused my courting?” Deadlock asks, pulling back Ratchet’s attention.

“I- what?”

“Even though we were united, the two of us were still -technically- on opposite sides. I was a Decepticon and you were an Autobot. Is that why?” Deadlock clarifies, his desperation all the more evident.

“What?” Ratchet looks at him in complete bafflement, “No, that’s not it. I didn’t know that that was what you were trying to do. Even if I did, I wouldn’t’ve been impressed.”

“What?” Deadlock leaps to his feet in shock, “Then what would impress you?”

“Bad choice of words on my part,” Ratchet tries to smooth things over, “I mean, I’m not impressed by anyone trying to hurt each other. I’m a medic. It means more work for me and I plainly just don’t like to see people get hurt.”

“Oh,” Deadlock deflates, his eyes turn downward and his shoulders fall.

“Why are you so determined to impress me anyway?” Ratchet stands on his own pedes to put them on equal footing.

“When I was drugged up and out of it I didn’t realize who you were at first. I just knew I thought you were the sexiest mech I’d ever seen.”

“Now, hold on-” Ratchet tries to cut in, feeling incredibly flustered but Deadlock continues on undeterred.

“Then when I was more coherent I realized I did recognize you,” Deadlock steps into Ratchet’s space, his optics growing soft, “I’ve seen you on the battlefield. You’re always among the first when the barrels of guns haven’t even begun to cool yet. I’ve seen it… There are mechs that should have died with critical wounds that would have meant offlining under the hands of any other medic. I admire you. You’re tenacity, you’re determination, you’re skill… I’ve come to love how grouchy you are too.”

Ratchet stares at him at a loss for words, frozen in place.

Deadlock puts a servo to his faceplate and begins to lean in making Ratchet’s spark stutter then says, “And I’d love to be yours.”

Deadlock continues to lean in and all Ratchet can do is watch. Red optics become lidded with their attention firmly on Ratchet’s lips. He can feel Deadlock all around him, all heavy armor and tense cables that communicate the sheer power and controlled strength behind the mech in front of him. Then a hot vent brushes his derma and Deadlock is just a breath away. Then…

Ratchet turns away and steps back only to bump into the medical berth feeling his spark spinning a mile a minute. He looks away and does his damndest not to run as he leaves.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, “something I remembered I needed to do.”

Rodimus has never seen Optimus like this before and it’s genuinely starting to freak him out. They survived the assault and gained a solid win, not a great win but a solid one which is something to be grateful for but Optimus has been acting down right ecstatic. It’s been like this since the damn suicide mission he pulled off with Megatron. Optimus has been smiling the biggest, dumbest smile Rodimus has ever seen on him for the past damn hour. At the very least, his good mood has been doing wonders for morale as they’ve been going through the rounds to check on soldiers and to receive reports on damages and casualties. Rodimus is loathe to break such a rare mood that’s especially rare for his Curae but he can’t help but feel that it might be for all the wrong reasons. They had been just moments away from total slaughter if it hadn’t been for another stroke of madness on the part of his Curae. The same fear he’s felt many times before led him to follow Optimus and -to his surprise- Megatron’s descent into the docking bay along with Deadlock, Krok, and Thunderclash who posed no argument. His squadmates had shared the same shock and awe as he had but were blissfully unaware of the deeply seated chill that sank into Rodimus’s spark. He had never fought like that before and it scared him how he was so willing to tear through armor and energon lines with an abandon he did not know he possessed.

Now, Optimus is here and alive and he should be happy but after all, instead of the steady, warm presence of his Curae has always been, he was met with a mech he didn’t recognize and that shook him to the core. His Curae seems battle-crazed and ready for more as he marches proudly through the halls, not even noticing the leaking wounds along his chassis and arms. To others he must seem a vision, a battle demigod sent by Primus himself to lay waste to all those who would sully their precious union but all Rodimus can see is his bleeding Curae losing himself to the tides of war. Never has Rodimus yearned so much for peace, for a mech to be dead as much as he wants Overlord to be so, so he may yet have his Curae back.

Once their tasks are done, Optimus turns to head to his office but is stopped by Rodimus’s gentle touch on his arm. He looks to his Amare and his smile falters at the concern weighing down Rodimus’s features that make him look much older than he is. Optimus takes his hand with a silent question. Rodimus doesn’t say anything and drags Optimus along with him until they reach the medbay. One look from the primeling to Ratchet and the medic’s own assessment of the Lord Prime has him having the Prime sit down so he can tend to the weeping wounds. Rodimus stands resolutely to the side with his arms crossed, glaring daggers at Optimus. He looks upon his Amare with confusion and gives him an apologetic look even though he’s still unsure of what he’s done. It doesn’t help that Ratchet remains in an icy silence while tending to him without so much as a comment to attest to his recklessness. The euphoria he had been feeling officially fades and his only concern is Rodimus.

“Rodimus, Amare,” Optimus begins once Ratchet’s done, “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?!” Rodimus snaps, catching the attention of many of the medics and patients, “Were you trying to get yourself killed? I thought you promised me you would be more careful!”

“I…” Optimus looks down at his hands, shame pricking at spark, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“What were you thinking?” Rodimus breathes out, his arms falling limp at his sides.

“It was the most effective way to break the blockade…” he explains but his words feel weak on his glossa.

“Yeah, it sure was something,” Rodimus shakes his head and starts to leave.

“Wait,” Optimus calls out and places a hand on Rodimus’s shoulder, “I’m sorry. I made a promise to you and I didn’t keep it. I’m sorry. Please, tell me what else is wrong.”

“What happened out there?” Rodimus looks up at him, fear evident in his optics, “You came back and looked like you… You were different. I don’t know. You came back like you had the best day of your life after you raided the ship with Megatron…”

His words stall and he looks skeptically up at Optimus, assessing him as some kind of revelation comes to him.

“I don’t know what came over me,” Optimus confesses, “I’m sorry, I genuinely don’t know. I should have been more aware of how you felt. I got caught up in…”

“Megatron,” Rodimus finishes, startling him, “You got caught up in Megatron. It really must’ve been a real power trip to have fought alongside Lord Megatron.”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

“It felt like… It felt like something was finally right. Fighting alongside him didn’t carry the same wrongness or loathing, self-loathing as it had when fighting against the Decepticons.”

“You mean against Megatron.”

“What?”

Rodimus sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Whatever it is about Megatron you aren’t telling me, fine, but don’t pretend this isn’t just about him. This isn’t about your grand moral dilemma over killing other Cybertronians, this is about Megatron.”

He stares down at Rodimus, words fail him and all he can do is reach out and pull him to himself for his own comfort as much as it is for his Amare’s. Rodimus more than happily accepts the hug, tightening his arms around Optimus and burying his face in his chassis. Optimus holds on to him tightly, like a lifeline as thoughts swarm his mind.

“Don’t let him hurt you,” Rodimus whispers into his chest and he has to wonder exactly what he means.

Since Optimus had been nowhere to be found, Prowl had handed over damage control duty to Arcee. She took it without complaint, more than happy to lighten Optimus’s load and took to the airstrip. The ships are far worse for ware than she had been expecting. Overlord’s forces had done a real number on their cruisers evident by the splits and breaches torn into the once vibrant armor now stained with scorch marks. Warped, molten masses stand where heavy artillery once stood after having been targeted to disarm the Camiens. They have the supplies and manpower to fix it all but she doesn’t know if they have the time. Evidently, Overlord likes to hit hard, fast, and without warning while they are still without an effective warning system for when he will attack. She continues to make her notes with this grim truth in mind while doing her best to reassure the Camiens around her. Then she lands upon the worst of the wreckage, a once elegant ship that had been torn to the very rebar that supported its structure. It hadn’t even been able to get to Earth on its own and had, instead, been towed down and carried by three of the other cruisers. Now, it would just be spare parts.

“Terrible, isn’t it?” a voice comes from just left of her.

Arcee turns to find a short, stocky Camien with a round head and pink and black armor.

“Yes, it is,” Arcee notes glumly, “We never even saw it coming but we’ll be ready next time.”

“Spare me the speech,” the Camien says, “I know we’re slagged right now. No need to sweeten the reality of the situation just because you’re worried about my morale.”

“Well, it certainly has seemed to have taken a blow,” Arcee jokes and manages to get a smile out of her.

“Yeah, maybe,” she shrugs, “Oh, I’m Aileron by the way. I wasn’t too confident to begin with while following the vision of that crazy priestess.”

“Nice to meet you Aileron,” Arcee nods to her, “I’m Arcee. I can only imagine what it must’ve been like to drop everything just to come here for a war on a whim. At least we have a cause.”

“Yeah,” Aileron huffs, “It’s hard being an atheist around a bunch of crazy zealots. Do you have to deal with that sort of thing?”

“No, it’s more along the lines of blind faith to the cause,” Arcee chuckles.

“Can’t be any easier.”

“No it is not.”

“So,” Aileron scuffs her foot against the ground, “What’s the plan now?”

“Hm?”

“I was one of the crewmembers of the cruiser that’s now out of commission. What’s going to happen to us?”

“You’ll probably all be reassigned and dispersed among the ranks.”

Aileron crosses her arms and frowns at the ship, “People aren’t going to be happy about that. Some of our teams have been working together for millennia. I know I won’t like it or Moonracer, either.”

“Well, I can bring it up with the other officers,” Arcee puts a reassuring hand on Aileron’s back, “I can see what can be done to keep the squads together.”

“I think they’d appreciate that,” Aileron offers her a tired smile, “Myself, though, I don’t think I’ll be happy anywhere.”

“Y’know,” Arcee bumps her lightly, “I could pull a few strings and get you a spot on my squad.”

Aileron eyes her slyly, a genuine grin curving her derma, “Y’know… That might be nice.”

Out of nowhere, a large pink arm roughly grips Arcee into a tight hold followed by a chuckle. Elita has decided to join in on their little talk and is doing her best to squeeze the air out of Arcee’s vents.

“Why’s everyone so glum?” Elita asks, full of energy and healed from battle.

Arcee pulls out of her hold and levels a glare at Elits, “You may have been among the few to raid that cruiser but that shouldn’t blind you to the rest of the battlefield. We still suffered heavy losses.”

“Right, right,” Elita puts her hands up in a pacifying gesture not looking admonished at all.

“Hey, I don’t mind,” Aileron shrugs, “You might as well see victory where you can and it was rather impressive.”

“”Please don’t encourage her,” Arcee sighs.

“See Arcee? She knows a true soldier when she sees one,” Elita puffs up a little with pride.

“I like to think so,” Aileron winks at Arcee.

“Don’t you have something you need to do?” Arcee asks haughtily, returning to her datapad while side eyeing Elita.

“Oh!” Elita shouts, “I promised Strika we’d spar after.”

“Of course you did,” Arcee mutters.

“I’ll catch you later,” Elita calls over her shoulder as she charges away.

“Well, at least it’s not boring here,” Aileron muses.

“You have no idea,” Arcee groans.

Krok comes back to his room to find a moping Deadlock on his bunk with a bottle of engex in hand looking like a kicked turbofox. He sighs and runs a servo over his face in dismay. Krok had hoped he’d be able to get some peaceful recharge after that hell of a fight but that doesn’t seem to be in the cards anymore. He sits down heavily on the bunk across from Deadlock and puts his chin in his hand, waiting for the terrifying warrior to rouse himself from his pity party. Then the door opens to let in an equally unhappy looking Rodimus that slumps down next to his Amica to lean heavily against him. Thunderclash follows just after, eyes remaining firmly on Rodimus. Krok lets himself fall onto his back and starts silently asking all the powers that be what he had done to deserve being stuck with the epicenter of drama. After a moment, he finds his resolve and sits back up to look over his squad.

“Alright,” Krok mutters, catching their attention, “What happened now?”

“Ratchet,” Deadlock mumbles into Rodimus’s shoulder.

“Optimus,” Rodimus grumbles.

“Okay, but what happened?” Krok stresses.

“So, do you want to go first or shall I?” Deadlock asks Rodimus.

“You go ahead,” Rodimus says, petting his Amica’s helm lazily.

“The courting fight didn’t impress him. I get that completely and totally now,” Deadlock begins to rant, still leaning on Rodimus, “So, I tried telling him how I feel and it seemed like he was going to let me kiss him but then he pulled away saying he had to do something. I just… What did I do wrong?”

“What did you tell him?” Thunderclash asks from his place leaning up against the door.

“The truth,” Deadlock all but gasps, “That I admire him. That he’s the best medic to have ever been forged. That I like who he is. That I want to be his.”

“Wow,” Rodimus laughs.

“What?” Deadlock asks morosely.

“Don’t you think that was a bit intense?” Krok asks, a little done with Deadlock’s dramatics.

“I- was it?” Deadlock looks as though he’s on the verge of a revelation.

“Yes,” Thunderclash sighs, “that certainly was.”

“Oh,” Deadlock flops back onto the bunk, “then what do I do?”

“Have you tried,” Rodimus gestures helplessly, “I don’t know, flirting with him?”

“I’ve neve had to flirt with anyone,” Deadlock admits sheepishly, “Usually, I have people coming on to me.”

“Well, that’s a much bigger and longer issue,” Krok sighs and turns to Rodimus, “What about you?”

Rodimus’s mood immediately sours and his face sets into a scowl, “Optimus tried to get himself killed.”

“That,” Thunderclash steps forward with an apologetic smile, “is -unfortunately- not a new issue.”

“This time was different,” Rodimus insists and stands up to face Thundeclash, “He came back all battle-crazed and I’m pretty sure it’s Megatron’s fault.”

“Megatron also came back with a strange spring to his step,” Deadlock muses, now leaning on his elbows.

“See?” Rodimus says pointedly to Thunderclash while waving his hands toward Deadlock.

Thunderclash puts his hands on Rodimus’s shoulders and says, “They do have a way of getting into each other’s heads but that doesn’t mean this is a bad thing.”

“I agree,” Krok stands up with a thoughtful look/

“Thank you,” Thunderclash sighs.

“If anything this hints to something deeper,” Krok continues.

“What-no,” Thunderclash holds out a hand as if to stop him.

“Yeah,” Rodimus jumps onto the train of thought Krok is on, “but what?”

“It could be something big,” Deadlock adds excitedly.

Thunderclash looks around helplessly at his squadmates then lands on Rodimus who’s wearing a wicked grin with an excited glint in his optics. He sighs knowing he’s fighting a losing battle.

“If you’re all really intent on this…” Thunderclash deduces from the looks he gets from saying that he sees that they are, “then we need to go to the datacombs.”


	12. Data Transfer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things settle down after Overlord's initial attack and things begin to pick up on Rodimus's end.  
> Warning: bad poetry

Starscream looks over the horizon of the desolate wasteland the humans call a desert, sighing at the charred wreckage that fell during the surprise attack. He’d never imagined the day he would be taking orders from Optimus Prime or Lord Optimus, rather, let alone orders to defend the escape pods of a foreign force. The Camiens are nice enough but their strange mannerisms and insistence on getting to know him are a bit much for him to handle which led him to seek refuge out here in the first place. He couldn’t fathom the reasons they could possibly have for wanting to get so friendly with him and he had to deal with the aftermath of the fight and checking on his seekers. So, once he was finally free from it all he’d flown to the most remote corner he could find and settled down. Now, the sun is setting, turning the world a hazy gold and bringing the beginnings of the nightly chill making him shake out his wings to keep them warm and he feels the weight of it all on his chassis feeling more than ready to recharge but not quite ready to head back into the fray to get there. Then, hands come around from behind him and pulls him into a tight embrace against a firm, warm chassis and he can’t help but smile. Wheeljack puts his chin on Starscream’s shoulder and hums tiredly, watching the sun as it melts into the horizon. Starscream leans into the embrace happily, letting Wheeljack carry some of his weight as his frame begins to sag with exhaustion.

“Recharge with me tonight,” Wheeljack whispers into his audial causing a shiver to course through him.

“I’m too tired to do anything too exciting,” Starscream chuckles and turns his so he can plant a kiss to the side of Wheeljack’s helm.

“Me too,” Wheeljack nuzzles his shoulder, “I just want you near me.”

“Mm, how could I say no?” Starscream turns around to wrap both arms around Wheeljack’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss.

Wheeljack lets his mask move aside to meet Starscream, sighing into the kiss as if it’s the best thing that’s happened to him all day and maybe it is. The kiss is slow and sweet as they let it sweep their cares away and their touches remain gentle and light, keeping them more as caresses than anything else. Starscream silently thanks Megatron for the one good decision he’s made in a very long time that’s let him have this, that let’s him be held and loved like this. Perhaps they were moving too fast but who could say. They could still die any day now, so why not revel in the spontaneous?

Then an arm roughly wraps around Starscream, knocking the air out of his vents while breaking their kiss and almost making him headbutt Wheeljack. Another comes around his waist and tugs him half into another embrace while he tries to remain in Wheeljack’s arms.

“Hey, Star!” Skywarp teases, “Having fun?”

“We haven’t seen you since you did your rounds,” Thundercracker squeezes him tighter, “Wouldn’t have bothered you if I’d known you were having some private time with Wheeljack.”

“You bothered me anyway,” Starscream mutters.

“It’s getting late,” Skywarp ignores his sharp remark, far more concerned with what he’d come out here for, “Are you coming to berth yet?”

“I’m recharging with Wheeljack tonight,” Starscream pries off Thundercracker and sinks further into Wheeljack’s hold.

“He’s welcome to the pile,” Thundercracker then adds slyly, “So long as you two aren’t planning on getting too intimate.”

“I don’t think-” Starscream huffs then Wheeljack beats him to it.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

Starscream studies him for a moment then says, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, why not?” Wheeljack shrugs.

“Alright,” Starscream smirks, “but, be warned, it’s a lot more than you think it is.”

“I’m sure I can handle it,” Wheeljack scoffs.

Thundercracker and Skywarp chuckle softly as they head back into the base with the two love birds arm in arm.

As it turns out, it is much more than Wheeljack was expecting. All of the seekers are crowded around the large communal room of their shared quarters in various stages of getting to recharge or in recharge either being leaned against, completely laid on top of, or lounging on their fellow seekers. He watches as Thundercracker and Skywarp settle into a pile, squashing themselves against Sunstorm and Slipstream as nervousness begins to settle in his spark. This is very far from what he was expecting but he doesn’t let that stop him from letting Starscream tug him along to the same pile to settle down into, with him laying against Skywarp and Starscream snuggling into his chest. The pile is warm and surprisingly comfortable somehow even with all the sharp bodies and tossed about limbs. Wheeljack tries to start getting into recharge but his mind begins shouting questions as it is wont to do.

“Do you always do this?” Wheeljack asks softly.

“No,” Starscream yawns, “A pile this large only happens after an intense fight like the one we just had. It reassures everyone and comforts them. It’s a sort of show that we made it through it and we’ll make it through the next one. Usually it’s just your nearest and dearest that you pile up with. I doubt anyone wants to be alone after that fiasco.”

“Yeah,” Wheeljack says then another thought strikes him, “If we were ever to bond, make it official would that mean sleeping with your trine all the time?”

“Good luck with keeping us away,” Skywarp laughs under his breath.

“You better make it official dumb bot,” Thundercracker mutters sleepily but is quickly hushed by a tired Sunstorm who’s lying under him.

“That would be a yes then,” Starscream says contentedly into Wheeljack’s chest.

“Well, that won’t be so bad,” Wheeljack muses.

“No,” Starscream hums, recharge taking him slowly, “I think it will be rather nice, actually.”

Wheeljack looks around at all the resting bodies, petting starscream absently, “Do you think we’ll be able to go home after it’s all over?”

“They won’t be able to stop us,” Skywarp murmurs while further tucking wheeljack to himself.

“Lord Optimus will probably tell us that we need to stay to help the Earth to heal after our war,” Starscream grumbles, “or some ridiculous high and mighty slag like that.”

“Well, that’s fair,” Thundercracker says.

“Huh,” Wheeljack whispers, recharge finally taking him, “I suppose it is ‘Lord Optimus’ now, isn’t it?”

It seems that Soundwave was able to return just in time for the chaos. Not only had the Decepticon courting fights gone on with vigor but he found that several cross-faction couples formed with relative ease. More than that, the DJD had decided to make an appearance and caused their own bit of havoc but now, thankfully, they too had been dealt with. The stream of paperwork and reports he had to deal with did not slow for a moment upon his return and merely doubled with the most recent attack. He didn’t have any time for anything but work, fueling, and recharge but now that he had dealt with the greatest portion of his workload he finally has some time to himself. Soundwave wanders through the new base to get a feel for it, passing by his colleagues as he goes through the halls and can sense how they all still have feelings of unease towards his presence. Well, he can hardly blame them for it. The reputation he’s made for himself while being the third-in-command of the Decepticon army has certainly earned him a bit of fear in addition to awe although he does hope there is more respect in their sparks than anything. Now that they are all Retrimechs, perhaps he can work on how they see him and maybe he can finally be just Soundwave or, at the very least, officer Soundwave. It had been rather surprising, to feel a sense of ease that came with being declared a Retrimech, to be a Decepticon no more. He has a lot of work ahead of him if the parting sea of troops is anything to go by or, perhaps, it’s simply because Megatron is heading towards him now.

“Soundwave,” Megatron says pleasantly, an unfamiliar, honest smile spreading across his faceplates, “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to welcome you properly. It’s good to have you back.”

“Yes, it’s good to be off the station,” Soundwave nods to him then a flash of motion out of the corner of his optic catches his eye, “My apologies for not being able to defend it better. I should have been more vigilant.”

“Don’t worry about the station,” Megatron assures him, still with that odd smile, “I’m just glad you were able to make it back safely. I actually happen to have some matters I’d like to discuss with you.”

The figure starts to get farther away, pulling Soundwave’s attention away from Megatron far more noticeably.

“I see,” Soundwave notes distractedly.  
“Megatron,” another voice calls and the form of Deadlock materializes out of the crowd of mechs.

“One moment, Deadlock-”

“No, please,” Soundwave holds up a servo and begins walking away, “don’t let me keep you from your Amare.”

Before Megatron can say anything, Soundwave is down the hall following the one he wants to talk to more than anyone, just barely catching up to him. He puts a hand out then uncertainty makes his hand stall but before he can escape, Cosmos turns around and looks up at him with that same openness that was so prevalent on the space station. Out of everything, that is the only thing he had missed from spending time on the space station. His presence feels like being welcomed in but at the same time it makes him so very afraid. He knows what he is, who he is and how easily he could hurt the sweet mech before him. Then, a servo is on his arm and concern radiates from Cosmos that only manages to make him feel guilty.

“Is everything alright, Soundwave?” Cosmos asks.

“Yes, I was actually hoping I would see you,” Soundwave takes ahold of the servo on his arm, “I would like it if we might talk. I would like to connect with you… on a deeper level.”

“I! Um…” Cosmos stutters and Soundwave almost retracts his offer then he says, “Uh, sure. I’d like that. Come on.”

Cosmos leads him away from the noise and the crowd all the while keeping a firm hold on his servo until they reach a door that he enters the code for so that the door slides away to reveal an observation room with no one else around. Once the door shuts, Cosmos puts in the code to lock it so they won’t be disturbed. Soundwave notes the oddity but doesn’t comment on it and heads to the large screen that has footage from one of their satellites on display. Stars and galaxies flit by as the footage flickers between different cameras and Cosmos comes to join him as he watches the beautiful display. Then, a servo nudges his own and he turns to look at Cosmos who isn’t meeting his gaze as he offers his open servo with the digits pointing upward to Soundwave who looks at it dumbly. Slowly, he pushes his servo against Cosmos’s, matching his posture and twines his digits between Cosmos’s three noticing that his action causes a faint shiver to course through his companion. He reaches out and feels how nervous but excited Cosmos is which only adds to Soundwave’s confusion.

“Uh, I’ve never done this with anyone,” Cosmos confesses.

Soundwave tilts his head, worry seeping into his spark, unsure if Cosmos was referring to talking to someone so intimately or having someone asking to get to know him more. Rage briefly flares beneath the worry at the thought of Cosmos’s own allies not being more attentive to Cosmos. Then, a faint clicking sounds and it erases all train of thought from his mind as he looks down to see Cosmos’s wrist open to reveal a port and cable. The sight of it makes Soundwave’s spark stutter and all words fail him in that moment.

“So, just, nothing to intense, alright?” Cosmos’s grip tightens with his words and they’re like music to Soundwave’s audials.

He takes off his mask and lets it fall to the floor unceremoniously, catching Cosmos’s attention in the process so now his gaze is firmly on Soundwaves mouth. Soundwave puts his free servo under Cosmos’s chin and tilts his head up and leans in close. As he approaches, Cosmos’s mask flicks aside revealing a pale yellow faceplate that Soundwave studies for a moment before leaning in and kissing Cosmos. As this kiss continues, his own wrist opens and his cable snakes out to connect with Cosmos’s wrist port making him gasp in surprise as data begins to flow through. Cosmos connects his own cable to Soundwave and a flood of thoughts, feelings, and sensations pours into his systems and they feel heavenly. Admiration, nervousness, attraction, all towards him tickle the back of his mind as other processes are completed and a warm buzz starts to flow through him that’s soothing and oh so much more than he could have ever hoped for. The one feeling he latches on to above all the rest is the beginnings of love he hadn’t dared hope were there and returns his own feelings in full force making Cosmos shiver and gasp against his derma. A whir and click breaks through the gasps and moans and Cosmos jumps back from him, clearly embarrassed. Soundwave looks down to see Cosmos’s chestplate moved away to reveal his other cables and spark.

“Sorry,” Cosmos gasps and moans as the flood of feelings continues to flood through his system, “I didn’t mean…”

Soundwave lets his own chestplate part and puts up his free hand to hover over Cosmos’s exposed cables.

“May I?” Soundwave asks, the sensation of it all turning his normally cool and steady voice husky.

Cosmos nods mutely, letting Soundwave tug a cable out of its holder to plug into a port in his chest making the sensations double in intensity and gasps out a harsh moan. He bends down and captures Cosmos in another kiss as he continues to blindly plug in his cables into Cosmos and vice versa. With every cable the amount of access he has to Cosmos’s thoughts and feelings increases making him shudder and gasp finding each part he sees just as perfect and wonderful as the last. He swears with each new piece to the puzzle he’s falling more and more in love with Cosmos. At this point there isn’t any need for words with everything right there in the open for both of them to see. Each memory of regret and sorrow is soothed by Cosmos and each memory filled with loneliness on Cosmos’s part is met with promises from Soundwave. It’s so wonderful he doesn’t want it to end but then the charge builds rapidly, suddenly and before he’s able to catch himself he’s overloading, eyes going white and static spitting from his vocalizer. He comes down quickly to see Cosmos panting shallowly, watching him with a look of adoration as love and desire flows towards Soundwave along their connection. Soundwave can tell right away the Cosmos hasn’t overloaded yet.

He looks down at their connection and sees the cables stretching between them in tangled disarray that somewhat obscures their sparks. To see Cosmos so open and vulnerable making a stir of desire and possessiveness swirl in his spark. With practiced care, he undoes some of the cables causing Cosmos to moan at their loss then reconnects them to the ports that creates a better, smoother flow of data between them. With each new connection Soundwave can feel Cosmos’s excitement rising as his fans pick up speed and his moans grow in frequency then, with the last renewed connection, Cosmos gasps out as overload hits him. Soundwave watches in complete adoration as Cosmos seizes up in pleasure, making him grip onto Soundwave’s shoulders tightly while his optics spark and flare with the intensity of his overload. When he comes down he’s venting hard. Soundwave smiles down at him and pulls him close, not quite ready to break their connection and kisses Cosmos’s forehelm. Cosmos relaxes into the embrace and brings his arms around Soundwave to hold onto him, feeling the completed connection lightly buzz between them, feeling safe and secure.

“I didn’t know you felt that way about me,” Cosmos confesses into Soundwave’s shoulder.

“I did not know that you felt that way about me either,” Soundwave rumbles good humoredly back.

“Then we were both pleasantly surprised,” Cosmos says and Soundwave hums in agreement.

Megatron hadn’t expected Deadlock to need him for anything but he readily agrees to a private conversation away from potential eavesdroppers. He leads his Amare away to his office and sits down then gestures for Deadlock to do the same, which he does so but before too long he’s back on his feet pacing across the room. Megatron watches is Amare, concern weighing down his brow but waits patiently for Deadlock to broach the subject. Eventually, Deadlock comes to his deck to lean on his hands with his head hung low. Tension peaks at every point of his body with whatever it is that’s troubling him. Megatron stands up and carefully puts a hand on Deadlock’s back getting him to look up at him with a sort of vulnerability he’s never seen from his Amare before. Then with a deep vent Deadlock stands up straight but the look does not leave his face as he turns fully to meet Megatron’s gaze.

“Do…” Deadlock starts then falters, his mouth moving but no sound comes out.

“Do I...?” Megatron says, trying to get him to continue.

“Do you know how to… flirt?” Deadlock’s voice softens with each word as he continues, “How to flirt with former Autobots I mean.”

“Why would you need to know how to flirt?” Megatron sits back in his chair, amused by his Amare, “You’re my heir. You could have anyone you want.”

“I could have any former Decepticon I want,” Deadlock corrects looking more distressed than before.

“The former Autobots don’t seem to be that hard to impress,” Megatron admits his confusion.

“There was…” Deadlock looks around as if searching around for the right words, “There was innate attraction in those situations.”

“But your situation is different?”

“Yes!”

“Who -may I ask- is it that has caught my Amare’s eye?” Megatron says, the humor he sees in this situation making his voice light.

“Ratchet,” Deadlock says with a dramatic flare and slumps into the opposing chair.

“Ratchet? The medic,” Megatron laughs out incredulously.

“Yes,” Deadlock hisses out, affronted by his Curae’s reaction.

“So, you’re looking for advice to woo this medic of yours,” Megatron leans forward on his forearms, amused smirk never leaving his face.

“Yes.”

“What have you tried thus far?”

“I tried a court fight but that only made him mad at me-”

“As one would expect of a medic.”

“Then I tried telling him how I feel but Rodimus and my other squadmates say I was too intense-”

“I would expect nothing less from you.”

“He completely rejected me. He’s probably not interested at all. So, what do I do now? Do I just give up? Do I flirt with him?” Deadlock opens up his hands helplessly and Megatron shakes his head at his lost Amare.

“You don’t need to flirt with him, Deadlock. Just talk to him,” Megatron gets up and pats Deadlock on the back, “I’m sure he’s more interested than you think he is.”

Deadlock looks down at his hands and asks, “What do I talk to him about?”

“Ask him what he likes. Get to know him,” Megatron says pointedly, “You’ll get much farther with that.”

“I suppose…” Deadlock says thoughtfully with that look that Megatron knows he’s already formulating a plan of action.

“Well, while you’re thinking about that, I’m going to see where Soundwave has gotten off to,” Megatron says with a parting pat but is stopped by a servo grabbing his.

Deadlock keeps his gaze to the ground as his grip tightens, “Thank you, Curae.”

A flutter of old guilt and sorrow pierces Megatron’s spark and he pulls Deadlock into an embrace, catching the mech off guard. Then, without another word, he leaves him standing dazed. He rushes down the halls, backtracking the way Soundwave had gone and ends up in a deserted hallway with only a few rooms that all serve more as ambient data collection than active observation. Curiosity as to what purpose Soundwave would have for coming here creeps up in the back of his mind as he checks each room for his officer then lands on the last one that is -for some reason- locked. He puts in his master code which lets the door slide away and he freezes at what he sees. Soundwave, standing in front of a screen that acts as the only source of light, is tangled with the agent Optimus had sent to the satellite, Cosmos, if he remembers correctly. The cables that are attached to each other stretch obscenely between them and Megatron promptly closes and locks the door then turns and heads back the way he came. He’ll have to apologize to Soundwave later.

Deadlock didn’t have much time to mope after his conversation with Megatron because as soon as he got back, Rodimus dragged him along with Thunderclash and Krok to the airstrip where they boarded an airship that took them back to the same base in the mountains they had been before moving over to the base in the U.S. desert. Once they arrived, Thunderclash led them down to the lowest levels of the base to the heavily protected and triple locked datacombs which turned out to be long halls of monitors, consoles, and data storage units that create an almost maze-like structure. They creep through the eerily silent pathways and look around to see the tech becoming older and older as they proceed until they reach tech that’s actually pre-war. The only one among them that had any real memory of that time was Krok and even he only recognizes some of the tech. They immediately get to work, searching for anything related to the Lords before the war broke out but only coming up with the same videos of speeches and accounts they had all seen before. Deadlock looks through all of the files only half-heartedly searching as his mind remains elsewhere, thinking of all the ways he might get on Ratchet’s good side. Then as he morosely scans over the same file log for the fifth time something catches his eye and he clicks on it. Immediately forgetting his personal troubles, he looks over the collection of locked files and feels his spark speed up with excitement. He calls over Rodimus and the others follow suit.

“What did you find?” Rodimus asks excitedly, practically sliding into Deadlocks space, optics locking onto the console.

“Huh,” Krok murmurs as he looks over Deadlock’s shoulder, “It looks like a personal log.”

“Not just any personal log,” Deadlock explains and brings the log to the entrance screen, “Lord Optimus’s personal log from before the war, way before the war.”

“The tricky thing now is figuring out the password or finding an encryption key that won’t corrupt the data,” Thunderclash rubs his temple, still not enthusiastic about what they’re doing.

“I think I can guess it,” Rodimus leans in more and Deadlock scooches over to allow him more access.

Rodimus’s digits fly over the keyboard to enter his guess and presses the enter key. With a moment of bated breath, they watch the old console process the entered code and then woop in excitement when they’re let into the log.

“What was it if I may ask?” Krok nudges Rodimus.

“Can’t tell you exactly since it’s the same one he uses for his logs now but it’s the name of some old poet or something,” Rodimus shrugs.

“Well,” Deadlock starts rifling through the files, “in any case, let's see what we can find.”

He sifts through entered log after entered log that all have nothing anymore interesting in them than details on senator elections and workplace gossip but without the full context they aren’t all that exciting. As they go through, they begin to lose hope of finding anything interesting at all, let alone anything pertaining to Megatron. Thunderclash wanders away to lean against a wall to let them continue, tired of maintaining the same hunched over position. Krok even goes to another console to see if he can find anything else while Rodimus and Deadlock continue to go through each entry with the same intensity and thorough search for anything at all. Then they come up to one particular entry that makes them gape in shock:

Entry 137, 15/37/22476 PA, Optimus of Iacon - Archivist, Head

I have met my match. Today was one of my off days so, there should be nothing of note to document but that’s what makes all the more wonderful and extraordinary. I’m not much one for drink but today I really did have nothing better to do. Everyone had something better to do. Maybe Bumblebee is right and I should get a hobby but today I couldn’t be any happier for being idle. I met the most magnanimous individual I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. He speaks with such diction and refinement you’d never guess he was a miner. Megatron of Tarn, he told me that’s his name. It’s very befitting of such a mech. When I bumped into Ironhide later, he told me I looked like I had seen Primus himself and so, maybe I was a bit awestruck but if Ironhide had only met him. I have never felt so at ease around a mech or so free. If the old poets are of any reference, then I have found my one true sparkmate. I think I might go to the same bar every day now just for a chance to see him again. I had been so far from reality that I forgot to ask him for his comm frequency. I don’t know what to do with myself. Frankly, I’m embarrassed.

Entry - Complete

“No wonder he had these locked away,” Rodimus whispers.

“Yeah,” if anyone found out Lord Optimus had a fledgling crush on Megatron before the war the drama that would cause…” Deadlock shakes his head.

Thunderclash comes over and leans in to look at the console, “You two have gone awfully quiet. Did you find something…”

He finishes reading over the entry and leaps back as though the console burned him.

“What…?” he whispers.

“What’s going on?” Krok finally comes over.

“Optimus was in love Megatron,” Rodimus explains more to make sense of it for himself than to catch up Krok, “Was in love… and might still be in love with Megatron.”

“We don’t know,” Deadlock assures him, “This is just one entry. It could have just been Lord Optimus being a little starstruck. A fleeting crush.”

Rodimus scrolls rapidly through the other entries only to find that Megatron apparently had the same idea about the bar and after the second meeting their meetings became more frequent. They met at the library or at the edge of the city. According to the entries they always kept their conversation professional or friendly but the way Optimus talked about the meetings, it was as though they were the only thing that brought his life joy. With each passing entry Rodimus can feel his vents speeding up as his Curae’s behavior makes too much sense now. Optimus finally got what he had longed for so long ago: Megatron by his side and now he gets to fight with him instead of against him. Rodimus begins to fear that those feelings had only ever been buried deep under the weight of command and duty to the Autobots but had never truly gone away. His Curae is in love with Megatron. Optimus is in love with Megatron but forgot and forgot so well that he doesn’t even know why he’s acting the way he is. Rodimus immediately copies every entry onto his own datapad and a file attachment to one of the entries catches his eye. He opens it on the console for all of them to see and feels his spark stutter with a feeling he can’t explain or name that leaves him breathless.

“What’s this?” Thunderclash asks, leaning down once more.

The file attached to one of the entries is nothing other than a poem written by Optimus:

-Tarnian-

Take my spark, dear warrior,  
May it shield you,  
Take my spark, dear quarrier,  
May it be your light.

What weapon I have, are but my words,  
That meet folly with your gaze,  
What weapon you have, sings in thirds,  
That never follies in the ring.

Destiny takes what’s hers,  
May you be mine,  
Destiny rarely occurs,  
May I be yours.

In the rampant degradation of time,  
Ever toward you, I shall climb.

“Well that’s certainly something,” Krok chokes out and they all nod in agreement.


	13. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus is still reeling from his discovery but life goes on and a few important discoveries are made.

Optimus shifts in his chair awkwardly while twiddling his fingers idly. Prowl sits at his desk, calmly looking over his datapads, completely unconcerned with the nervous Prime sitting right across from him. Optimus looks around the office as he patiently waits for Prowl to finish his reports to find it as tidy and thoroughly organized as its owner with not a single thing out of place. No matter where they go, Prowl always keeps his office and living quarters free from any kind of personalization, free of anything that isn’t necessary. It is a testament to his character as much as it is to his experience and time in the war. Most people make allowances for themselves whenever they can to make whatever place they had been shipped off to feel at least a little bit like their own space but not Prowl, never Prowl. Everyone has their own way of coping with the terror and uncertainty of it all and Prowl’s way of coping has been to always be precise. His reports, his office, his living quarters, his shots; all perfectly calculated to the last degree because that is what makes him feel safe, like he’s in control. Now, Optimus is worried that he may be losing some of that control by adding an incredibly nebulous unknown to his life.

Finally, Prowl sets down his stylus and focuses his attention on the Lord Prime, “What did you want to talk about?”

Optimus sits up straighter and clears his intake before saying, “About Shockwave…”

“Yes?”

“Are you sure your relationship with him is wise?” Optimus asks and flinches under the hard gaze Prowl gives him.

“I wouldn’t call it a ‘relationship’ precisely,” Prowl rubs his forehelm in agitation, “It is simply something that is beneficial for both of us.”

 

“But-” Optimus begins but Prowl cuts him off by sharply raising his hand in defiance.

“There is no love between us and I know that’s what you’re worried about,” Prowl leans back in his chair and crosses his arms before continuing, “There is no love but there is respect and attraction. We know where we both stand, Optimus and we’re comfortable with it.”

“If you’re sure…” Optimus eyes him carefully sounding unconvinced.

Prowl stands up and looks at Optimus with a withering glare, “I would really prefer it if you didn’t project your own insecurities on my interactions with Shockwave. Instead of trying to fix my situation that is very much not in any way in need of fixing, reflect upon on your own misgivings and leave me out of it.”

“I-what? I don’t understand,” Optimus stumbles over his words, taken aback by Prowl’s sudden outburst.

“No,” Prowl sighs and sits back down, a bit calmer now, “No, of course, you wouldn’t understand. Then again, I suppose we all have our own ways of coping. Some ways are simply less healthy than others.”

“I…” Optimus says, his spark constricting painfully.

He stares at Prowl a bit longer then stands up but doesn’t move to leave. He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. Then, he turns around with his hand gripping the chair, a question heavy on his tongue but it still won’t come. Optimus releases his grip on the chair, still hesitating then he makes his way to the door and his hand hovers over the controls. Looking back one last time he sees Prowl watching him carefully, his face as impassive as it has ever been which is usually a comfort but not now.

“Goodbye, Prowl,” Optimus says and with that, he leaves with a heavy spark.

Rodimus doesn’t like the way he feels right now. He doesn’t like the thoughts that his latest discovery is sparking in his mind, the ones he wants to shout out loud but at the same time wants to keep locked away forever. Optimus was once in love with Megatron and he may yet still retain those feelings of lost love, of the struggle of never seeing it come to fruition. The more he read after those few initial entries the more his spark began to ache for his Curae and how their war must have hurt him but that’s what makes it all the more baffling thus conflicting him further. Rodimus has fought many times alongside Optimus against Megatron and has never seen him waver for even a moment. He’s not sure he could do the same if he were put in his place. All traces of Megatron being a part of his Curae’s life all seemed to just disappear after the war broke out. Everything from that point on until now had been nothing but bloody war and tragedy. Rodimus could see why this record had been buried along with all the other records in the datacombs from that day and age, records that contain nothing but a time many wish to forget and one Rodimus is glad he does not remember.

He continues to pace the room he has holed away in to look over his datapad with all the entries downloaded on it, looking at every once in a while as though he might see something different or find that it had all been a dream. Thunderclash had joined him when he had stormed away after returning to the desert base and has simply been patiently watching him while leaning up against a far wall and Rodimus was finding that he’s actually glad the big lug is here. Originally, he thought he’d wanted to be alone but that quickly proved false with each peak of panic that just having Thunderclash around seemed to dampen. Pausing in the middle of the room, he brings a hand to his mouth to cover any expression he might be making and glances between Thunderclash and the floor. His attention flickers from the datapad and veers towards Thunderclash, a much-preferred distraction to the conflicting emotions tearing him from the inside out. Anything would be a welcome distraction at this moment but he just can’t get himself to stop thinking. Without much more thought, he walks over to Thunderclash and presses his forehelm to Thunderclash’s chest so he couldn’t see whatever reaction he has to his moment of weakness. To Rodimus’s surprise, large arms come up and pull him close into a tight hug that makes his mind still.

“Shanix for your thoughts?” Thunderclash says soothingly.

“Optimus was in love with Megatron,” Rodimus whispers in his chest as though it was something to be afraid of, something cursed.

“So it would seem,” Thunderclash rumbles and pulls Rodimus away to look down at him, “That was a surprise to us all but it seems to have had a particularly adverse effect on you.”

“It’s not really that he was in love with Megatron that’s got me so worked up it’s that…” Rodimus vents out roughly and brings his hands up to rest on Thunderclash’s arms, “It’s almost like he completely forgot about it. Like it never even happened. How is that possible?”

“I don’t know but I’ll help you figure it out,” Thunderclash promises to him as easily as venting.

“Also, that poem,” Rodimus shakes his head, “He had it so bad and then he never even mentions having a lover once?”

“Perhaps he was trying to spare you,” Thunderclash offers.

“No, he’d tell me,” Rodimus eyes grow distant for a moment, “He at least always tells me about those kinds of things. Maybe that’s a part of why this messed me up so much. I feel like he kept this from me. I know he didn’t but still…”

“It feels like there’s an entire part of him you’ve never known and you’re scared of what you might find,” Thunderclash offers with a shallow shrug.

“Yeah…” Rodimus sighs then scoffs, “Like, who knew he wrote poetry of all things?”

“What? Are you jealous he’s never written anything for you?” Thunderclash teases earning an eye roll from Rodimus.

“I’m good. I don’t need my Curae to write me a poem,” Rodimus chuckles lightly.

“Not a fan of poetry?”

“I don’t read the stuff, no.”

“Rodimus, Prime to-be, I’m aghast,” Thunderclash pulls him close as he continues his teasing, “Is it just no one’s ever written a poem for you? Like Optimus wrote one for Megatron?”  
“Oh geez,” Rodimus feels some of the tension he’d been feeling just melt away as Thunderclash’s antics brings a small smile to his face, “What? Are you offering?”

“Ahem.”

“Oh no.”

“To be near,” Thunderclash begins and a flutter embarrassment lights up Rodimus’s face, “To love and caress.”

“Oh, so you’re really going for it,” Rodimus chuckles nervously.

“Oh so clear, a fleeting guess,” Thunderclash completes another stanza and Rodimus stills, “One true flame, my heart and thunder.”

“I…” Rodimus feels his spark splutter with something unsure but wonderful.

“The one name, I will let plunder, come to me, my one desire,” Thunderclash teasingly but sweetly cups Rodimus’s face in one hand and the primeling’s optics grow wide, “We will be, all-consuming fire.”

Rodimus stares up at him into those lovely red optics that are looking at him now with so much kindness it feels too real making him feel at a complete loss for words. He starts to lean forward then catches himself then looks down bashfully.

“You could not have come up with that just now,” Rodimus teases back but the splutter Thunderclash makes catches his attention.

“I don’t-maybe,” Thunderclash turns his gaze away when Rodimus looks back up at him, “I happen to enjoy poetry.”

“So, did you write that?” Rodimus tries to joke but he fears that it may come off as something more genuine.

“I… might have,” Thunderclash admits and looks back at Rodimus, faceplates bright with energon.

“It was good,” Rodimus now all too aware of every part of his body that’s being touched by Thunderclash and brings a hand up to the one that’s still cupping his face.  
He doesn’t drag the warm, inviting hand away. He doesn’t want it to move so, instead, he spreads his own over it and presses his face into it while letting his optics shutter close. Thunderclash completely surrounds him, keeping everything that threatens to swallow him whole at bay. The safety he feels whenever he’s around Thunderclash now is so unfamiliar but certainly not unwelcome. They have become closer after the time they’ve spent together, after fighting together, after recharging so near to each other, after spending late nights talking and joking with their squad, after everything. Now, he’s promised Rodimus to help him and he helped him in the first place. Rodimus doesn’t know when it happened but he’s glad for what he has with Thunderclash now, but this small taste of what they’ve been faking, it feels too real.

“Rodimus,” Thunderclash says softly and he opens his eyes to see him look unsure and nervous.

“Thunderclash,” Rodimus answers just as softly.

“What are you…” Thunderclash starts to say but trails off as Rodimus’s grip tightens on his hand.

“When did you write that poem?”

The question sends a visible shock through Thunderclash and he doesn’t say anything. Despite a lack of response, Rodimus steps forward, getting completely into Thunderclash’s space.

“Is it really about me?”

Thunderclash still doesn’t answer. Rodimus cups Thunderclash’s face and brings it down.

“Do you really mean it?”

The sound of footfall breaks the tension and Rodimus snaps away from Thunderclash roughly just in time for the door to open to reveal Strika.

“There you are, primeling,” Strika says in her usual gruff way, “You are needed as a referee.”

“A referee?” Rodimus frowns thoughtfully, “For what?”

“Elita and Grimlock are going to spar,” she says, excitement evident along her massive frame.

“Okay.”

“Excellent!” Strika shouts as she grabs him and hauls him down the hall leaving behind a very flustered Thunderclash.

Brainstorm doesn’t get it. Physics, chemistry, biology, you name it, he’s an expert on it but he just can’t wrap his head around this. He, Perceptor, Wheeljack, and -for a reason beyond him- Starscream had all come together to really hunker down and get to the root of the problem: Overlord’s stealth tech. That matter has been going well for the past few hours as they make excellent progress in removing possibilities like it being Courtentia tech or worse, something they’ve never seen before. No, this Brainstorm gets. It’s the loving looks and soft teases that Wheeljack has been sending Starscream’s way he doesn’t get. Of all the people a guy like Wheeljack could have picked and he picked Starscream. Sure, the guy’s kind of a mad genius in his own right but Brainstorm just can’t seem to get a handle on the chemistry behind them. Now, he has to play nice with the guy who has repeatedly tried to outdo him not just because they’re all buddy-buddy now but because he’s on the arm of one of his closest friends. Great.

“Brainstorm? Are you alright?” Perceptor taps his shoulder.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I’m okay, Percy,” he says and looks at the data he just reconfigured.

“Are you sure?” Percy looks over his shoulder at the data as he continues to talk, “You’ve been glowering at Starscream for the past hour.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? You know the things he’s done,” Brainstorm grumbles.

“And you know the things you’ve done,” Perceptor says as he pokes his side.

Brainstorm’s head snaps to look at him as he saunters away, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Perceptor looks over at the other side of the lab to see their companions completely engrossed in something then turns back to Brainstorm.

“Starscream was the one to develop the core data system you oh so expertly demolished,” Perceptor says in a hushed voice, “You have both done your very best to impede the other. I am sure he is just as frustrated with you for that little instance as you are with him for destroying your destabilizer gun before you even got to put it through a test run.”

“That… might be true,” Brainstorm annunciates his words very carefully, “but, that doesn’t mean I’m wrong about him and Wheeljack being together being a bad idea.”

“Brainstorm,” Perceptor levels a firm look at him, “Are you really going to tell me that if you and I were not Conjunx that you would not even consider the possibility of at the very least considering relations with Starscream?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t! I would be too busy pursuing you,” Brainstorm laughs and pulls Perceptor towards him by the waist.

“Alright, let me phrase this better,” Perceptor continues while fighting off a smile, “He made that core data system.”

“Yes, and?”

“It was going to be able to transfer data without delays pretty much as it would be collected to ships in hyperspace over the course of several light years,” Perceptor slowly removes Brainstorm’s mask as he speaks, “You don’t find that even a little bit sexy?”

Brainstorm gives him a withering look as his mask is pulled the rest of the way off revealing his firm frown.

“Did you seriously just call Starscream, the former second-in-command of the Decepticons ‘sexy’?” Brainstorm quirks his brow at him.

“I’m sure everyone has at some point,” Perceptor gestures nonchalantly to which Brainstorm snorts in disbelief, “Well, you haven’t but that’s because things got personal.”

“So, what? You’re telling me to make nice?”

Perceptor kisses him and wraps his arms around his neck. It’s slow, sweet, and chaste but it doesn’t fail to get Brainstorm’s engines going.

“For me?” Perceptor vents out after breaking the kiss.

“...fine,” Brainstorm relents and kisses Perceptor’s faceplate.

“I hope we’re not interrupting anything too important,” Starscream cuts in snidely, “but we’ve found something you may find pertinent to the data you just collected.”

Brainstorm makes a low, disgusted noise but cuts it off when he meets Perceptor’s warning look.

“Yeah?” Brainstorm accepts the datapad as he detangles himself from Perceptor.

“Oh,” Perceptor clicks his glossa, “This would mean that we’re dealing with Delatarian tech.”

“Which means we’re getting false negatives in addition to the stealth tech messing with our scanners,” Wheeljack huffs.

“At least now that we know what we’re dealing with we can take measures against it,” Brainstorm mumbles while he matches it up to the new data.

Wheeljack puts his hands on his hips and looks away in thought, “How did Overlord get his hands on this stuff anyway?”

“He probably killed a lot of people,” Starscream shrugs, “That tends to be his style. Thankfully Soundwave managed to sift through the data he collected from Sigma-4 to find the relevant scans otherwise we’d still be stuck with limited data.”

“Yeah,” Brainstorm nods in genuine agreement, “Lucky. Too close for my comfort, honestly.”

“Well, I’ll take the report to Optimus er- Lord Optimus,” Perceptor takes the datapad and heads out.

Starscream keeps his gaze away from Brainstorm as Brainstorm does his best not to glare at Starscream with mixed success. Wheeljack looks between them and sags in defeat. He was going to have to be the mediator.

“We’re not enemies anymore you know,” Wheeljack puts a hand on Starscream’s shoulder, managing to get him to look back at them, “We need to make amends. You both know what you did so, apologize.”

“What? Like a pair of admonished sparklings?” Starscream scoffs incredulously.

“Stop playing mentor, Wheeljack,” Brainstorm scolds and crosses his arms.

“If you don’t want to be treated like sparklings than don’t act like sparklings,” Wheeljack gives both of them a look, “Come on, you’re both grown mecha. Swallow your pride and make amends.”

Starscream squints at Brainstorm for a moment longer before the tension leaves his body and he vents out in defeat.

“The core data system isn’t why I’m so angry with Brainstorm,” Starscream confesses.

Wheeljack tilts his head curiously at him and looks at Brainstorm with a silent question who shifts uncomfortably under the attention.

“Then why?”

“It’s because-” Starscream starts to explain but Brainstorm cuts him off.

“I’m sorry,” Brainstorm bursts out sharply and nervously, “I shouldn’t have been so petty but you know what you did.”

Wheeljack looks back at Starscream who cleans of a bit of invisible dirt from his plating to avoid eye contact.

“I embarrassed you,” Starscream admits, “I’m sorry. I should not have asked you that question during your presentation in Iacon. No one would have been prepared for that. It was unbecoming of me to catch you off guard and hurt your reputation in the process.”  
Brainstorm nods mutely, shuffling his feet awkwardly. He scratches the back of his neck as he considers Starscream for a moment.

“It was really petty and -like you said- unbecoming of me to lace the energon at your big debut in Kaon with Voice Box muddlers.”

“Yes,” Starscream’s shoulders sag at the memory, “To think I would have to give an entire presentation in the Praxian dialect in Kaon. I especially hated the side effect of actually retaining how to speak Praxian.”

“Well,” Brainstorm offers, “That question of yours did push me to do some really impressive research that got me the influence I have and… and it eventually led me to Percy. So, you know. Thanks in a weird way I guess.”

“I am now able to make incredibly lewd and rude remarks to Prowl’s face without other people knowing what I’m saying now, so that's a plus I suppose…”

“Then… we’re okay?” Brainstorm holds out a tentative hand that Starscream just considers then an easy smile spreads across his face and he takes the proffered hand.

“I suppose,” Starscream nods.

“Okay, good.”

Wheeljack looks between them, hands on his hips and hisses out a vent while leaning his head down. They both watch him with concern for a moment until he pops his head back up.

“Are you serious?” Wheeljack says in a dangerous tone, “That’s why you’ve been at each other’s throats for so long?”

They both nod meekly.

“You are by far the two most petty mechs I have ever met.”

Rodimus didn’t even take a single step as Strike dragged him through the halls then through a door to the outside and straight to a makeshift ring where Elita and Grimlock now stand facing each other. At the very least they don’t look angry with each other so he can rule that out as the reason why they suddenly want a formal match. Word of the match itself had apparently gotten around if the large crowd of mechs surrounding the ring is anything to go by. Grimlock pulls his gaze away from the large crowds by hailing him and he walks over to the hulking mech who has to kneel to meet him at a comfortable height. He only has to tilt his head ever so slightly to meet Rodimus’s optics from his kneeling position. The sheer size of him is just ridiculous.

“Thank you for coming to watch over our match,” Grimlock greets him, “I hope you don’t mind not telling Lord Optimus or Lord Megatron about this.”

It’s still so strange to Rodimus to hear people call Optimus “Lord”.

“Why don’t you want them to know?” Rodimus asks, worry weighing down his brow.

“We are both officers and we used to be on different sides,” Grimlock then gestures to the crowd, “It’s probably not the kind of message they’re hoping to spread.”

“Then why have this match at all?” Rodimus shakes his head in confusion.

“Elita insisted,” Grimlock flicks his head in her general direction.

“You two are on a first-name basis?” Rodimus’s optics widen in shock but a smirk still finds his lips.

Grimlock just shrugs at that.

“Well, I won’t tell them but chances are they’ll still find out about it, so, be ready to still get flack for this later.”

“Stop trying to butter up the referee, Grimlock and let’s get to the good part already!” Elita calls over in good humor.

Grimlock stands back up and nods to Rodimus before retaking his position. Rodimus then retreats to the side of the ring and holds his hand up causing the entire crowd to fall silent. He cuts down through the air and the combatants are on each other almost immediately trading blows. It’s amazing to watch them, two seasoned warriors battling it out. Rodimus can’t keep up with their movements and barely catches the smooth maneuver Elita pulls to pin Grimlock that he breaks out of not with brute strength but with a flipping move that allows him to get back on his feet while knocking Elita away. Elita doesn’t give him time to vent as she’s on him again with a flurry of blows that he barely deflects. He manages to get a hold on her and slams her into the ground only for her to land a solid kick to his chassis, knocking him back. They continue on like that, always seeming so close to felling the other but never quite. Rodimus would be worried about how hard they’re going at each other if it weren’t for the witty remarks and how they clearly aren’t trying to kill each other. Of all things, they do actually seem to be having fun. The crowd seems to catch the same energy and they’re all cheering them on, urging them to down the other with gusto. Overall, it might not be exactly something Optimus or Megatron would want but it would be hard to deny the companionship everyone is feeling right now.

The fight begins to slow as their movements become sluggish and they clash together less often until finally they both fall to their knees, venting hard and looking spent but happy. They nod to each other and fall fully to rest and Rodimus calls the end of the fight. Congratulations on a good fight float through the air interspersed with groans of disappointment that neither of them claimed victory but the mood is hardly soured. Then, the cries quiet down as Elita stands up and walks over to a kneeling Grimlock. She holds out her hand to him and helps him get up but doesn’t let go immediately making the crowd fall completely silent as a new kind of tension fills the air. He stares down at her in confusion but doesn’t pull away.

“Grimlock, you’re an excellent fighter,” Elita says and swallows thickly.

Rodimus’s mouth drops open because Elita, the Elita-1 the terror of the Decepticons, the general of devastation, Mortilus reincarnated actually looks nervous. He didn’t think she could actually feel nervous just vaguely annoyed but here she is, nervously talking to Grimlock.

“Thank you,” he says and puts his other hand atop hers, “You have always been an excellent opponent and I am honored to be fighting alongside you.”

Elita nods then clears her intake, “I hope that you might then…”

“Hm?”

“I hope then you might consider being my Amica.”

Grimlock stays silent for a moment and the only thing that can be heard is the wind washing over the sand of the desert. Then he pulls his hands from her grasp only to lift her up with what strength he has left into hug making her laugh.

“I would be honored,” he booms and the whole crowd roars in celebration of their new bond.

Rodimus laughs and smiles at the two, feeling lighter than he has in a while.

Prowl didn’t want to deal with any more unwanted visitors today but this visitor could hardly be called unwanted, especially not with what they promised. He and Shockwave have been going over the report Perceptor had submitted and set up even more tasks to the repair crews to incorporate systems that would allow them to detect oncoming ships from Overlord’s fleet. They are also working on ways to broaden the range of their existing scanners that thankfully only needed to be recalibrated. All incredibly tedious but necessary work that had to fall to them since it’s their department. The day has been slow and frustrating but his need to be thorough won out a while ago and so here they are. Shockwave, careful as ever makes his last few changes to the set of order and Prowl knows they’re the last changes from the finality of Shockwave’s movements as he sets the datapad to the side. Prowl checks his list twice and once he sees that there’s nothing even remotely important to take care of, he’s out from behind his side of the table and on Shockwave’s lap.

“Eager, are we?” Shockwave asks running his hand over Prowls headlights earning a shiver.

“It’s been a stressful day,” Prowl bites out while grinding his panel against Shockwave’s.

Shockwave just hums and scoops up Prowl in one arm and kicks the chair back so he can comfortably stand with Prowl sat on the table. Prowl bites his neck cables roughly and Shockwave’s grip tightens in response.

“Frag me hard,” Prowl orders right into Shockwave’s audial and receives a rough grind into his modesty panel making him gasp.

“Something must have made you particularly irritable,” Shockwave notes as he carefully plucks between seams getting Prowl to gasp and writhe under his touch.

“Optimus decided to share his opinion on our arrangement,” Prowl explains, his words interspersed with moans.

“Ah,” Shockwave says as he lets charge leap from his weaponized appendage directly up Prowl’s spinal strut causing him to arch his back and give a soft cry, “That must have been particularly unproductive.”

“You have -ah- no idea, oh right there,” Prowl moans out as Shockwave finds a particularly sensitive spot at the base of his spinal strut.

“Hm, I may,” Shockwave speaks evenly but the heaviness to it lets Prowl know he’s not entirely unaffected, “Megatron can be insufferable when he wants to be.”

“No more talking,” Prowl breathes out as Shockwave moves his hand to rub against his modesty panel.

Shockwave increases the speed of the electric pulses along Prowl’s back earning a cry and his panels to snap open revealing his wet valve. He slowly strokes up Prowl’s thigh and watches as his expression contorts in pleasure from his touches mixed with the sensation of electricity and charge being sent along his main sensor net. Takin Prowl’s chin in his hand, he makes him look up at him and hums, pleased to see how dark Prowl’s optics have become and how pliant to his touch he’s become.

“You truly are delightful,” Shockwave rumbles lowly.

Prowl takes his hand in his and nips at Shockwaves thumb then licks along his digits before taking them into his mouth, sucking on them all the while keeping eye contact with Shockwave making his cooling fans whir to life. Shockwave’s spike pressurizes between them and brushes the folds of Prowl’s valve. He slips his hand from Prowl’s intake and brings it down to rub Prowl’s anterior node making Prowl cry out in pleasure and lubricant begins to gush out from his valve. Prowl grips his shoulders tightly as he continues to work slowly with deliberate movements while watching every delightful expression of frustration and pleasure play across Prowl’s face. Finally he slips a digit into his entrance and rubs against nodes and feels Prowl’s legs twitch in response. He stops the electrical current and bodily pushes Prowl back onto the table as he slides another digit in, forcing gasps and moans from Prowl’s lips no matter how much he tries to keep them down. Taking his hand away, he replaces it with his spike to rub it teasingly through Prowl’s folds and over his anterior node as he leans over him on his hand. Prowl writhes and moans beneath him beautifully and he finds himself simply watching.

“Spike me already, you slagger,” Prowl demands, tightening his legs around Shockwave’s hips in an attempt to bring him down.

“Always so impatient,” Shockwave teases as he leans in over Prowl further while still keeping his spike frustratingly close to Prowl’s valve but not in and whispers right into his audial, “Ask me nicely.”

Prowl growls in frustration, “Please, spike me, Shockwave.”

“You must be desperate to concede so easily,” Shockwave says but complies with Prowl’s wish and pushes into Prowl’s valve.

Prowl moans at slowly being filled as Shockwave’s spike stretches him wide. Once all the way in, Shockwave grinds against Prowl’s valve, lighting up nodes making Prowl gasp and tighten his legs around Shockwave. He lets out a low moan as he feels Prowl’s valve clench on his spike and moves back out just as slowly as he entered earning a huff of frustration from Prowl. Before he can say anything, Shockwave shoves roughly back into him making him gasp in pleasure and surprise. The pace Shockwave sets is slow but rough earning curses, moans, and hisses from Prowl. Prowl is so warm and wet around his spike he can’t get enough but what more are the delightful sounds and expressions Prowl makes for him every time he shoves his spike into him. They’re enough that he starts to speed up, pounding roughly into Prowl at a more brutal pace.

“Yes, finally,” Prowl moans.

Shockwave lifts up off his hand and grips Prowl’s hip tightly as he continues to slam into him with his spike causing lubricant to drip obscenely from his valve. Prowl’s valve begins to clench harder letting him know that Prowl is close to overload. He angles his hips higher so he can push his spike deeper into his valve, hitting the ceiling node with every thrust making Prowl cry out sharply. Then Prowl hit his overload suddenly and shouts as his body arches up to meet Shockwave’s thrusts that become ragged as Shockwave approaches his own release. With one last thrust, Shockwave is spilling hot transfluid into Prowl’s valve and he moans at the sensation of being filled so completely. The sound of cooling fans and harsh vents fills the air as they come down from their overloads. Shockwave looks down appreciatively at Prowl who’s sprawled over the table, his valve still on Shockwave’s spike as he pants with his optics shuttered closed. Shockwave pulls out of him, letting their mixed fluid spill from Prowl’s valve. He reaches down and runs his thumb through the slick over Prowl’s folds and comes up to rub his oversensitized anterior node making him twitch and groan at the sensation.

“It’s wonderful, watching you come undone like that,” Shockwave comments softly.

“If it’s so great then you won’t mind going for another round,” Prowl lifts up, leaning on the palms of his hands while grinding up into Shockwave’s touch.

“With pleasure.”

Megatron watches as the sun sets along the horizon, appreciating one of the few things he finds truly beautiful on this alien planet. Footsteps approach him and he turns to see Optimus coming up to him, a grim expression on his face. Optimus stops just short of him and looks out over the horizon. Megatron studies him, noting the lack of battlemask once again, a habit that Optimus has taken up recently. He can’t say he’s complaining. It’s nice to see what the Prime is actually feeling in full instead of having to guess just from his optics that only ever seem to burn when Optimus is around him. The soft glow of the sunset washes over them giving the bright silver of Optimus’s face an ethereal glow. Megatron reaches out ever so slightly then retreats as Optimus turns to him looking troubled.

“What’s wrong, Optimus?”

“My behavior after the fight on the battlecruiser greatly worried Rodimus and he believes that it is because you had some effect on me,” Optimus explains, deflating when he mentions Rodimus.

“What about it concerned him?” Megatron puts a hand to his chin, intrigued.

“I suppose I seemed… possessed,” Optimus gestures helplessly, “I ignored my injuries. I seemed more than ready to get back into the fray.”

“I felt that too,” Megatron smiles at Optimus and puts a consoling hand on his shoulder, “It’s been hard to come by a fight that has felt that right. I feel as though I’m truly fighting something worthwhile again.”

“Lost faith in the cause?” Optimus jokes, relaxing some under Megatron’s touch.

“Lost faith in myself,” Megatron corrects.

Optimus nods and smiles, optics full of so much understanding that it makes Megatron’s spark ache.

“I know all too well what you mean,” Optimus holds the hand on his shoulder, “It was nice to finally feel like I wasn’t…”

Optimus looks away, solemn realization clouding his face. Megatron startles at the sudden change in his demeanor and reactively tugs Optimus’s hand closer to himself, bringing Optimus’s attention back to him. The shadow of an age-old pain flickers in his optics and Megatron reaches out to him with his spark without thinking. The soft reassurance brings some light back to Optimus’s optics.

“Feel like you weren’t what?” Megatron asks desperately.

“Like I wasn’t fighting against myself,” Optimus finishes and Megatron vents out sharply.

Megatron squeezes Optimus’s hand tightly and is about to say something but Optimus continues on.

“Do you think we could have been like this without the war?” Optimus returns the squeeze in kind.

“What do you mean?”

“This companionship, this peace, this union,” Optimus clarifies growing desperate with each word, guilt ripping at his spark, “Would we have ever been able to be the way we are now without the war?”

Megatron sighs and steps closer to Optimus.

“It does not do well to waste away thinking of ‘what ifs’, Optimus,” Megatron looks back over to the horizon, “We are here now and that is all that matters. Think of the future and what can be.”

“We’ll be able to restore Cybertron,” Optimus whispers wistfully.

“We will,” Megatron says almost defiantly as if daring anyone to prove him wrong.

“We could have Maccadam’s up and running again,” Optimus smiles broadly at that and Megatron’s spark jumps at the very mention of it.

“Planning your retirement, Optimus?” Megatron jokes, hoping to hide his hope.

“No, just liked the idea of being able to share a glass of engex with you,” Optimus shrugs.

Megatron reaches out with his spark to Optimus to let him know just how good that sounds to him and receives a jolt of excitement in return.

“It could be the start of something new,” Optimus says quietly.

Optimus pulls away, dragging his hand slowly over Megatron’s, reluctant to leave but he undoubtedly has more duties to attend to and with a final brush of fingertips he turns around and goes back to the base. Megatron stands there, watching Optimus’s retreating frame feeling the old ache in his spark burn anew after so long but fear meets it in equal measure.

“Something… new?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without any unforeseen events, I should be able to get in two more updates this week.


	14. Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insight on Optimus's issue leads to a few problems.

The medbay is still all abuzz with medics tending to patients meaning Ratchet is as busy as ever but First Aid eventually catches him by the arm and starts dragging him from the medbay. Ratchet protests but First Aid ignores him, simply stating that he’s overworked and needs a break which, well, isn’t a lie but there’s just so much to do that Ratchet can’t bear to leave it be. Of course, First Aid just has to threaten to declare him unfit for duty to which he knows Ambulon would agree to even if it’s just so he’ll sit down for five minutes. So, that leads him to letting First Aid pull him from the infirmary and into the hall, closing the door firmly shut behind him. He grumbles a bit more, rubbing his forehelm and catches something out of the corner of his eye. Turning to look, he jumps at seeing Deadlock leaning idly next to the entrance of the medbay. Deadlock quickly turns away when their eyes meet, looking tense and nervous. The medic in him takes over, pushing aside any embarrassment he may feel at the mech’s presence and steps forward, getting into Deadlock’s space.

“What are you doing here?” Ratchet asks and Deadlock just closes into himself further.

“I’ve… I’ve been waiting for you,” Deadlock admits, looking anywhere but Ratchet.

“Me? Why…” Ratchet suddenly recalls Deadlock’s confession vividly and he coughs into his hand awkwardly.

“I’m not…” Deadlock gestures openly and uselessly with his hands before giving up, “I don’t know how to do this.”

Ratchet vents out, relaxing his frame and goes to lean next Deadlock to which he takes notice and looks at him in surprise.

“You’re better off forgetting about me,” Ratchet breaths out, his gaze going long, staring at nothing in the distance.

Deadlock reaches out a hand but flinches and pulls it back, looking bewildered, as though he’d been dumped into a pool of ice water.

“I don’t understand,” Deadlock says almost too softly to hear.

“I’m…” Ratchet looks at him and sags, letting the weight of the war drag his frame down, “I’m not what you want. I’m too bitter, too mean.”

Ratchet looks to the floor away from the wide optics looking so intently at him feeling his spark weigh heavy in his chest. Then a shoulder bumps his and he looks up to see Deadlock looking at him with a look that’s far too soft to be coming from Deadlock of all people and Ratchet feels that little bit of anxiety come back to make his spark stutter.

“I was a Decepticon,” Deadlock emphasizes, leaning slightly into Ratchet’s space so he can brush his hand gently against Ratchet’s, “I’m familiar with ‘bitter’ and ‘mean’ and -trust me- you’re neither. You’re grouchy and prickly at most.”

Deadlock says it with a little grin that pulls back enough to show off fang but with that lovestruck look in his optics it comes of more dopey than intimidating and Ratchet smiles back. His spark refuses to calm down around Deadlock but he doesn’t want to go anywhere, doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

“Ha, I am grouchy and prickly,” Ratchet agrees lightly, an honest laugh bubbling out of him, “but I’m also bitter and mean.”

“Whatever you call it,” Deadlock says then leans his head in conspiratorially as he whispers, “I like it. I like you.”

“Ha, um,” Ratchet stutters and his optics flickers briefly to Deadlock’s lips which doesn’t go unnoticed by the mech, “Why would you want me?”

“I already told you,” Deadlock vents out sweetly, “You’re incredibly brave, kind, skilled, and just wonderful. I want to see how far we can go.”

“Well…” Ratchet clears his intake, “I just want you to know you’re making an entirely terrible choice.”

Deadlock hums in mock curiosity as he leans in further, optics tracing down to Ratchet’s mouth.

“You are,” Ratchet affirms but it sounds weak to his own audials as he leans in to Deadlock, his attention meandering down to Deadlock’s parted derma.

“Sure,” Deadlock whispers sarcastically and closes the distance.

The initial contact makes Ratchet’s spark leap, feeling Deadlock press softly intos his lips, turning his body so he’s chestplate to chestplate with Ratchet while bringing up a hand to cup his face. Ratchet’s hands come up to grip Deadlock’s hips to dig his fingertips in getting Deadlock’s hips to twitch in response. Their lips move gently against each other, at times with Deadlock just barely ghosting his over Ratchet’s sending tingling sparks over his faceplate. Ratchet tries to deepen the kiss but Deadlock pulls away causing Ratchet to grumble in frustration at the loss. Deadlock just smirks down at him while skimming a hand down his chassis just barely delving seams in an agonizing tease and presses Ratchet harder into the wall getting a moan out of Ratchet. Deadlock leans in to brush his derma over Ratchet’s audial as he runs a hand over his neck cables, plucking them lightly as he goes.

“Not just yet,” Deadlock whispers right into his audial, “I want to go slow, take my time with you. I know now that I was too intense before and for that I’m sorry. Now, I want to get to know every part of you. I don’t want to go too far too quickly. Will you let me?”

“I’d let you do a whole lot more,” Ratchet mutters, cooling fans clicking on under the continued flickering touch.

“Hmm, not yet,” Deadlock punctuates his whisper with a light squeeze just above Ratchet’s hip making him shudder out a broken vent, “Definitely in the future but not now, not that I know you’ll have me. I don’t want to risk losing you, not for anything.”

“You won’t lose me because of a little interface,” Ratchet groans out, “So, just… Just frag me now.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

“Right next to the entrance to the medbay?” Deadlock jokes with a broad smile at the ridiculousness.

“I…” Ratchet hesitates, optics glancing for a moment at the tightly shut door, “Right now, in my quarters.”

Deadlock presses another achingly sweet and gentle kiss on his derma and whispers just a breath away, “Not yet.”

Deadlock pulls away completely after that to which Ratchet groans in frustration.

“Meet me tonight at the ridge,” Deadlock says.

“Why? So you can tease me and leave me again?” Ratchet grumbles.

“So you’ll be there?” Deadlock says cheekily.

Ratchet huffs and looks away from the smug mech, “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Great,” Deadlock says as he begins to saunter off, “See you later, then.”

Deadlock goes down the hall with a spring in his step and Ratchet tries to calm down while he watches him go, appreciating the view.

Rodimus’s hand hovers over the control panel to Optimus’s office, datapad clenched tightly in his other hand. His spark spins rapidly in his chest as he stares at the controls almost as if he could simply will them open with a single thought. Confusion led him here but now he’s not sure if he truly wants the answers to the questions that have been swirling around in his mind. His hand inches towards the controls and fear prickles up his spinal strut then shutters his optics as his hand touches the smooth glass. He vents in and then vents out and starts putting in the code but the doors snap open making him jump from the entrance. Optimus looms over him with a baffled look on his face, looking down at Rodimus who’s now clutching the datapad in both hands over his face. They just stand in the doorway, staring silently like that with Optimus waiting for Rodimus and Rodimus processing the current situation. Rodimus then lowers the datapad and clears his intake.

“Could we speak for a moment?” he asks, not looking at Optimus.

“Of course,” Optimus steps aside and waves a hand towards his desk, inviting Rodimus in.

They sit down together but Optimus pulls the chair out from behind his desk so he can sit right with Rodimus. Rodimus fiddles with the datapad for a moment, thinking of what to say before just handing it to Optimus. Optimus takes the datapad, assessing it curiously and boots it up to the entry Rodimus had been looking at that detailed a venture he and Megtron had to an observatory. Optimus frowns at it, his brow creasing in confusion and looks between a nervous Rodimus and the datapad.

“What is this? Fanfiction?” Optimus asks more to himself than to Rodimus.

“Uh,” Rodimus gapes at him, “No! It’s… You wrote that.”

Optimus gazes steadily at Rodimus, his expression firm but not angry just… Perplexed.

“I couldn’t have,” Optimus finally says.

“But I found it in the older section of the datacombs with my squadmates,” Rodimus argues, “It was under your personal account and protected by your passcode and everything.”

“Why did you go into the datacombs?” Optimus sets the datapad aside then pauses and looks sternly at Rodimus, “You know my passcode?”

“Yeah, I saw you type it in one day a few centuries ago and used it to get on the intranet to watch those wrestling shows you didn’t want me to watch,” Rodimus explains nonchalantly all but waving it away completely, “I went into the datacombs for answers. I wanted to know why you’re so…”

“Why I’m so?”

“So, obsessed with Megatron,” Rodimus’s body sags under his words and he lets out a tired vent.

Optimus studies his face carefully, his face grim and optics wide.

“You believe I’m obsessed with Megatron?” Optimus murmurs.

“I thought so…,” Rodimus rubs the back of his neck, “Now I think you’re in love with him.”

“I…,” Optimus shakes his head to clear it, “No, Rodimus. Neither of those options is true. This must have been a practical joke of some kind during a time when it would have actually been funny.”

“All two-hundred seventy three entries worth of entries is just a badly aged prank?” Rodimus’s optics flicker over his face, absolutely aghast.

“I- what?” Optimus scrolls through the entries and sure enough, there are many, many entries all along the same flavor as the first he had seen.

Optimus sets the datapad aside once again, face hard and impassive. He turns to Rodimus, frame tense and Rodimus looks back with deep concern and an unspoken question.

“Rodimus, Amare,” Optimus vents out, “I don’t know what to tell you.”  
“What do you mean?” Rodimus inches to the edge of his seat, spark rate picking up.

“I have no recollection of ever making these entries.”

Windblade looks over the wreckages slowly being restored to their former glory and sighs heavily once again. The only relief to be had was that they finally know how to avoid the same calamity, how to keep her sisters from meeting the same harrowing attack. Chromia comes up behind her and wraps her arms around her waist so she can rest her chin on Windblade’s shoulder, humming soothingly. Windblade leans into the embrace, closing her eyes and letting the late evening sun wash over her frame. She hadn’t wanted Chromia to come along originally so she could stay safe on Caminus with the Mistress of Flame but, of course, there was no arguing the matter. Chromia goes where she goes, no matter if the responsibility is to be Windblade’s alone or how tumultuous the situation might be, Chromia is right there by her side. No matter how many times she may try to dissuade her Conjunx she is always glad to have her by her side and as the centuries have passed she has found her arguments losing strength and her insistence dampen. No matter where they go and no matter how far they travel, they are together and that is all they need.

“Things have seemed to develop rather rapidly after our arrival,” Chromia plants a kiss on Windblade’s shoulder.

“So it would seem,” Windblade nods and rubs small circles on Chromia’s hands.

“What do we do now?”

Windblade looks on as Camiens and Cybertronians alike carry heavy tools and materials all the while chatting and even laughing at times as they work away on the warships.

“I truly do believe now that Megatron and Optimus’s relationship is key to the perpetuation of this peace after we defeat Overlord,” Windblade speaks solemnly, resolutely.

Chromia stands up straight and turns Windblade around to look at her, taking her hands in her own, squeezing them nervously while her face betrays nothing.

“What makes you say that?”  
Windblade sighs and puts her head on Chromia’s chest.

“Their war hadn’t actually been about the Autobots and Decepticons for quite some time, had it?” Windblade presses her cheek against Chromia’s chest, “No, it was about the ultimatum, the final fight between Optimus and Megatron that never came. Everyone became so much more focused on winning the war that they all forgot the reasons why they were actually fighting and they went on until Megatron and Optimus simply kneeled before one another and said ‘enough’. They would have continued fighting because their reasons were no longer their own but Megatron and Optimus’s, the two of them became their reasons. If they falter then so too shall this union.”

“A union to preserve a union,” Chromia mutters, understanding all too well what Windblade was implying.

“So it should be,” Windblade huddles closer to Chromia, hiding her face from the world.

Chromia hums as she holds Windblade close, listening to the distant sounds of power tools and the wind blowing softly over them.

“Well, what should we do then?”

“We need to be particularly nosy and ensure that this union does not fail.”

“We may need to recruit help.”

“Well,” Windblade moves her head so she’s looking up at Chromia, “Aileron may be able to help. She seems to have befriended one of Optimus’s own officers, Arcee.”

Chromia snorts, “I think she’s more than befriended her.”

“Oh, good for her,” Windblade smiles sweetly, “I always hoped she’d find someone.”

“Why? So, you can tease her mercilessly for it?”

“Mm, perhaps,” Windblade hums mischievously.

Chromia’s gaze becomes suddenly distant, a thought striking her.

“What is it?”

“It’s just…” Chromia sighs, “Do you really think we can defeat Overlord? A part of me just wants to turn our forces back around and forget we ever saw anything.”

“It’s too late for that,” Windblade looks up at her apologetically, “They’re all invested now and watching the two lords come back victorious… If it’s any comfort I do believe we can defeat Overlord.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“One alone would never be able to defeat Overlord,” Windblade gently taps Chromia’s nose, “but the two together will be unstoppable.”

“Oh,” Chromia looks up at the billowing clouds, “I suppose that’s true.”

Rodimus comes back to his quarters and freezes at what he sees. Ultra Magnus is standing in the middle with Deadlock, Thunderclash, and Krok all standing stiffly near the far wall looking thoroughly uncomfortable and somewhat cowed. On the other hand, Ultra Magnus looks nearly livid or as close as he ever comes to looking livid since he always keeps his face neutral so as to not come off in any way other than completely professional. However, Rodimus grew up knowing Ultra Magnus and had gotten in trouble enough times to know whenever he was well and truly angry and this is one of those moments. His face may betray nothing but the roiling behind his optics tell a whole other story. Rodimus closes the door behind him and steps up to Ultra Magnus, still reeling from his conversation with Optimus but he does his best not to let that show as he comes to stand at rest in front of his commanding officer. Ultra Magnus, ever fond of his dramatic pauses, assesses Rodimus, looking him up and down with that critical eye of his and he must find something he doesn’t like since he takes a moment to actually brush off Rodimus’s shoulders.

“Good of you to join us, Rodimus,” Ultra Magnus finally says, “I understand you were in a meeting with Lord Optimus which is why I did not hail you but now you are here we can finally get started.”

“Get started with what?” Rodimus asks hesitantly, optics moving to his squad who all shift tensely.

“You made a completely unauthorized trip into the datacombs and, furthermore, you retrieved sensitive, private information without permission or even attempting to go through the appropriate channels to gain access,” Ultra Magnus runs down, never faltering in his stony gaze but his inflection hints at his true feelings that lie just beneath the surface.

“Would we have been given access if we had gone through ‘the appropriate channels’,” Rodimus challenges, returning his attention to Ultra Magnus.

Ultra Magnus scowls down at him but ignores the snide comment, “As is proper procedure, you will all be facing disciplinary action. Tomorrow, you and your squad will be meeting on the airfield bright and early to go on a scouting operation to observe and document any and all activity within a hundred mile radius of the base. Have I made myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Rodimus bites out sharply.

“Good,” Ultra Magnus nods, “I expect to see you all in top shape tomorrow. Do not try to wheedle your way out of this one, Rodimus.”

“Yes sir.”

With that Ultra Magnus brushes past him and leaves their quarters, more enraged than he had been when Rodimus got there if the way he firmly pressed the controls was anything to go by. Now alone, his entire squad all stare at him, a bit stunned by his audacity. Rodimus just shrugs and slumps on to one of the bottom bunks and rubs his hands down his face. The others relax and take up their own positions around the room, Deadlock and Thunderclash sitting either side of him with Krok on the other bunk. They all sigh in exasperation, upset by the latest development.

Deadlock puts a hand on Rodimus’s back, catching his attention, “You okay?”

“What?” Rodimus frowns at him in confusion, “Yeah, I’m fine. That could have been a lot worse, honestly. Ultra Magnus does love to plan his disciplinary actions.”

“Not what I meant.”

“What then?”

“Ultra Magnus said you had a meeting with Optimus,” Thunderclash holds his hand out then pulls it back, “How did that go?”

Rodimus stares lamely at him as words fail him.

“That bad?” Krok cuts in.

“You could say that,” Rodimus puts his head in his hands.

“Did he get mad about our little errand?” Deadlock asks.

“No,” Rodimus shakes his head, “He… He doesn’t remember, Lock.”

“Doesn’t remember what?”

“He doesn’t remember making the entries.”

They all go quiet at that, looking at each other as if one of them might be able to come up with as answer. Rodimus retreats further into himself, his despair all the more evident.

“How could that be?” Thunderclash breaths out.

“I don’t know,” Rodimus chokes out and -without thinking- Thunderclash pulls him into a side hug that Rodimus melts into easily.

“If that’s the case, why would the files have been buried like that?” Deadlock leans on to his Amica, “Wouldn’t someone have wanted to…”

“I’m not sure,” Rodimus says, his voice muffled by Thunderclash’s frame.

They go quiet again, just taking comfort into each other as this new information fully washes over them. The air feels uneasy, like they’re on the precipice of something big and dangerous. Rodimus clings to Thunderclash, forgetting any shyness he felt before, just glad to have the mech there as a piece of his world becomes blurry. Thunderclash tightens his hold, more concerned for Rodimus’s well-being than anything. Deadlock wraps his arms around Rodimus, giving him what comfort he can, frustrated he can’t do more for his Amica.

“Well,” Krok mutters, breaking the tension, “This is all thoroughly fragged.”

Optimus stands atop the base looking over the slowly progressing repairs still clutching the datapad Rodimus had handed to him in his hands, not daring to look at it anymore. Each time he has dared to look at it, it feels like he’s looking at himself from another’s eyes in a time and universe he does not know making the whole thing feel far too surreal. He sits down at the ledge of the roof and lets the datapad slide away to his side and leans back on his hands. The clouds float lazily above in scattered, pink-tinted puffs beautifully. A figure from the corner of his optic comes suddenly into view and he looks over to find the same orange frame he has become so accustomed to. The mech looks out over the horizon at the repairing warships then turns and smiles up at Optimus. Optimus looks away, a feeling of disgust rising up in his chest at what he’s not sure but he can not bare to look at the mech. A gentle hand comes to rest on his but he still doesn’t dare look at them.

“You’ve come quite a long way,” the mech says and that gets Optimus to look at them.

“What do you mean?” Optimus shakes his, “I know we’ve created a union but now I’m…”

“You’ve come across something rather troubling.”

Optimus nods his head, not daring to speak. The mech sighs and pats his arm.

“It has been a difficult journey for you,” the mech says as they clean their spectacles, “and you still have quite a way to go. With your discovery… has it changed how you feel? Feel about yourself? About the war?”

“Was I in love with him?” Optimus whispers, scared to know the answer, “How could I have loved him? He destroyed… He destroyed everything.”

“Not everything, Optimus,” the mech says.

“It was wrong,” Optimus says diffinitively, his voice straining with a sudden ache in his spark, “If I loved him it was wrong. I could never have…”

The mech looks at him, optics dimming with each word then turns back towards the horizon, replacing their spectacles.  
“It is never wrong to love. Love in of itself is a beautiful thing but we must understand what may happen. Sometimes we need to let go of love but in doing so we must accept we have loved. There is no reason to feel guilty for ever having loved anyone. To love means you want to share the best of life, that you care and that is truly wonderful. The message is not always received, however, but that is never your fault and you needn’t hold on to someone that does not love you back or hurts you no matter how much you may love them.”

Optimus folds his hands, thinking the mech’s words over carefully then lifts his head up and opens his mouth to speak, thinking over his words.

“If I did love him,” Optimus looks intently at the mech, “why did I let him go? The war?”

The mech shakes their head, “Only you can answer that question.”

“But you are connected directly to me,” Optimus voice breaks with the ache growing in his spark, “You know my mind, my memories. Surely you must know.”

The mech doesn’t say anything, looking away sadly.

“Primus! Surely you can restore my memories to me,” Optimus holds out his hands, pleading, “Surely you can return to me what I’ve lost.”

Primus looks at him, pain and sadness welling up in his optics, “To do so would be to destroy you, Optimus, I can’t do that to you. You must remember on your own or not at all.”

Optimus falls into his hands, hopelessness clouding his spark.

“I will leave you with this,” Primus places a hand on his shoulder, “Do you love him now?”

With a brush of wind and the settling chill with the setting sun, Primus is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter only because it ended at a point that didn't feel right to write past.


	15. Good Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talks in the night take place before Rodimus and his squad goes on their mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might I suggest listening to Tango Evora for this one

Megatron had gone through the day in a numb stupor as he simply went through the motions of the duties expected of him. A tragedy had occurred and he could not find the will to pick up his feet to go to assure those most severely affected. No, instead he has been trapped in his head as he filled out paperwork and sat through meetings that droned on. The burn in his spark that he had let go so long ago has returned with a vengeance, a constant ache that only grows whenever Optimus Prime walks into the room. What’s worse is that the Prime is now avoiding him, flinching away from touches and looking away even when addressing him directly. He couldn’t explain the reasons behind the Prime’s sudden change in behavior but a part of him is grateful for it because he doesn’t know if he could take it if Optimus Prime continued to look at him like he used too so long ago. Now, the day has passed and everyone has gone to recharge with the stars shining above the base without any obstruction for they are miles and miles away from any of the brightly lit cities of Earth. Megatron stares up at them for recharge has escaped him, a result of the storm of memories that flooded his mind that he had believed he had forgotten long ago. There are memories of quiet nights like this, just gazing up at the stars that he had so desperately tried to bury.

“You’re deeply troubled,” the voice of Soundwave emanates from behind him, it’s a voice he’s known for a very long time and brings comfort now as it had so long ago.

“I am,” Megatron turns to him, watching him walk up to him.

“May I ask what it is?”

Megatron looks away and says nothing.

“Has something happened between you and-”

“I’m sorry for intruding on your personal moment earlier,” Megatron interrupts pointedly.

“It is of little consequence,” Soundwave brushes it off, completely untroubled, “I advise you do not avoid your own troubles, however.”

Megatron clenches his hands, his shoulders shaking, the ache in his spark returning in full force making him gasp in pain and he falls to his knees, clutching his chest. Soundwave is quick to come to his side but doesn’t dare to touch Megatron, simply kneeling next to him, feeling more than seeing him come out of his sudden tide of feelings.

“He’s forgotten,” Megatron chokes out in a sob, “He has no memory of me, of us from that time. I don’t know how and I don’t know why. I was foolish to believe he may be within my reach again.”

Soundwave doesn’t say anything and just hangs his head, knowing all too well what Megatron was referring to. He had seen him this way before and it hurts him to see him this way all the more for it. No matter what happens, no matter what he does, everything always seems to return to Optimus. Soundwave knows in his spark of spark that Megatron’s world was, has always been, and always will be the one known as Optimus Prime. He has tried to suggest ways to move on from the simple to the extreme but everytime Megatron has refused any remedy which Soundwave has come to understand more thoroughly as time has gone on. There have been times where the only thing that had kept Megatron going was the pain or the memory of it but he did not and does not like to see him this way especially after so long after the wounds and scars had seemed to fade away to that which has been bearable.

“He is not gone,” Soundwave says into the night air as Megatron continues to claw over his spark.

Soundwave dares to do what he had been so afraid of for so long for fear of not being worthy, for fear of overstepping, for fear of misreading his lord but everything is different now, everything has changed. He reaches out and touches Megatron’s back and feels it twitch in surprise at his touch but Megatron does not pull away or tell him of so he continues. Soundwave wraps his arms around Megatron and pulls him in close as if to block away the world and to, at the very least, block out the pain. Megatron grips him tightly, falling head first into the embrace and there is relief as well as regret and Soundwave wishes he had done this sooner.

“I have stood by you as an ally and a friend for these past few millions of years and I shall continue to do so, always, my lord, my friend,” Soundwave says, holding him tight.

“I know, thank you,” Megtron chokes out, body still wracked with feelings so old yet so sharp, born anew, “I am grateful that I may call you ‘friend’ and I am honored to have known such a mech as you.”

They sit out through the night until Megatron becomes exhausted from the draw on his spark and they return to recharge in silence.

Deadlock stands at the ridge, overlooking the broad expanse barely illuminated by the moonlight venting in and out as he waits which speeds up when the sound of footsteps crunching the desert sand meets his audials. Ratchet comes up to stand next to him and he finally faces him, a broad smile on his face. The medic smiles back, amused by the whole situation and takes Deadlock’s hand in his. Deadlock cups his face and presses a sweet kiss to his lips then pulls away, humming as Ratchet just grumbles at it not being enough. He pulls Ratchet away from the ledge to a wider expanse, taking his right hand in his left and puts Ratchet’s left hand on his shoulder. Ratchet watches his movements in confusion then Deadlock flicks a soundsystem at his hip on and gentle music begins to float through the air and puts his hand to Ratchet’s waist. Ratchet looks up at him with wide optics, now understanding where he’s going with this. Deadlock tries to start the first few steps but Ratchet stands firmly in place, gripping Deadlock hard with a deep frown that looked more like he was considering something than actually angry. Feeling a little uneasy, Deadlock kisses his cheek and pulls Ratchet closer to himself.

“I don’t know how to dance,” Ratchet huffs.

Deadlock chuckles and Ratchet glares at him but he just shakes his head, “That’s okay. I can teach you. Besides, it’s just you and me.”

Ratchet’s glare softens into surprise and a willing but unsure grin spreads across his face, “Well… when you put it that way…”

Deadlock begins again and this time Ratchet follows, steps uneven and heavy and his eyes are turned downward to watch their movements. The sight of it all brings a sweet smile to Deadlock’s face and he gently brings Ratchet’s face up to look at him and kisses him, distracting him from the movement of their feet. Slowly but surely their combined movements become smoother and easier as they dance across the sands and he breaks the kiss letting their half-lidded optics meet. They continue to dance until the song ends, swaying as they cling to each other in the chilly night air. When the song comes to a close, Deadlock wraps both of his arms around Ratchet and kisses him far more deeply than he has before, nipping at Ratchet’s lips and leaving him breathless when he breaks away.

“You asked me out here just to dance?” Ratchet teases but his tone is too loving for the teasing to have any real bite to it.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Deadlock confesses, “I feel like I’d just trip over my words or sound stupid. Really all I want is to get to know you but I don’t even know where to begin. So, I thought we could just dance and the talking could come later.”

“What do you want to know?” Ratchet leans his head against Deadlock’s chest and sighs.

“Everything, anything, I just- I want to know you,” Deadlock says nearly breathlessly.

Ratchet hums for a moment in thought then taps Deadlock’s chestplate when an idea strikes him.

“I’m Optimus’s Amica but I’m a bit younger than him,” Ratchet says, “It’s a bit odd to think about sometimes.”

“That you’re younger than him?”

“That I’m his Amica.”

Deadlock pulls enough away to look at Ratchet, frowning in confusion, “How is it strange?”

“I didn’t really know him all that well before he became prime but I knew him before the war… It’s just strange to think that someone so influential could think of me that way,” Ratchet sighs, “I’ve never really seen him as anything more than Optimus though. He’s good at keeping things under wraps though so that makes things… difficult sometimes and with both of our workloads it’s not like I can march up to him any damn time I please and demand what’s wrong.”

“Something is wrong right now, right?” Deadlock looks down, remembering the events of the past few days.

“You know?” Ratchet optics widen in shock.

“Yeah… Rodimus wanted to find answers why he had been acting so weird and, well,” Deadlock takes a deep vent to calm his nerves, “Found out about Optimus’s feelings for Megatron.”

“Oh,” Ratchet says just above a whisper, “so you know about that.”

“Why doesn’t he remember?”

Ratchet returns his gaze and the look he gives Deadlock breaks his spark with how sad and tired it is.

“I can’t tell you that,” Ratchet shakes his head, “It’s not for me to tell.”

Deadlock holds him close and kisses his helm, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“It’s fine,” Ratchet sighs, “Honestly, it’s one of the only things that’s been on my mind lately. I’ve been worrying about Optimus, worrying about this war, worrying about my patients. It feels like I’ll I ever do is worry but there’s you at least. Don’t make it so I have to worry about you too.”

Deadlock laughs under his breath, “I’ll do my best.”

“Lier,” Ratchet grumbles into his chest and Deadlock just laughs.

Deadlock sighs up at the stars, “I need to leave soon.”

Ratchet pops up to look at him, “What? Why?”

“Heh, my squad is being sent on recon duty as punishment for sneaking into the datacombs when we weren’t supposed to,” Deadlock grins ruefully, “It’s early too so that’s great.”

“What? Then what are you doing here? You should be getting recharge,” Ratchet scolds him but Deadlock just kisses him.

“And miss our first date?” Dreadlock asks incredulously, “Not a chance.”

Ratchet scoffs but looks far more pleased than he lets on.

“Then stay just a little longer,” Ratchet says softly, “and I can tell you about my days in med school.”

Deadlock smiles at him like he just offered him the world, “I’d love that.”

Thunderclash wakes out of recharge to find his squad more or less in disarray. Deadlock looks like he barely got any recharge at all, Rodimus is looking at his returned datapad, scrolling through some of the entries again, and Krok looks ready to kill. When Ultra Magnus had said early he meant early and it seems that he’s the only true morning person on his squad. He can already tell that this is going to be a rough day. Then Ultra Magnus is knocking at their door and they’re marched off to the airfield to load up on a small ship to scope the area. The science team had apparently buffed their scanners so that they can now detect Overlord’s forces which is a plus but, knowing the team, the scanners are probably mostly functional. Thunderclash is sure they’ll work and do what they’re supposed to do it’s just that they’ll probably do it in a way that they don’t make sense to them or give readings in an entirely unhelpful manner. He just wants to get this over with so he can escape Ultra Magnus’s ire and so he can have a serious conversation with his squad about sticking their noses in where they shouldn’t be. The plan to go to the datacombs had been his but if had known… All he has to do is take care of this and then he’s home free. He just has to keep reminding himself of that.

The flight over the desert is quiet and tense, the monotony broken only every so often with an update on instrument status, fuel levels, or flight path. Ultra Magnus sits in the captain’s chair with Rodimus standing stiffly to his right overlooking a console giving him constant updates on weather, altitude, and any objects in their proximity. Krok and Deadlock at flight controls with Thunderclash at his own panel picking up readings from all their scanners, looking for anything and everything out of the ordinary. Of course, everything is completely ordinary and it’s going as any boring standard recon mission goes. It’s not as though they actually picked up a hint of activity in this area or had reports of any disturbances so it’s no surprise that they’re finding absolutely nothing. It all just adds more to the dullness of their forced mission, a fitting punishment for not following proper protocol. If you were going to go against the chain of command then you needed to prove that you could still follow protocol and perform your duties without fail. This, however, doesn’t stop Thunderclash from glancing at Rodimus every moment he can spare, the only way he can check on him. Ever since the incident in the datacombs he’s been upset and now he’s being terse and cold with Ultra Magnus in a way he’s never seen before.

“Rodimus,” Ultra Magnus addresses him as he stands up and Rodimus turns to him as if it physically pained him to do so, “I need to over your behavior, in private.”

“What?” Rodimus is so surprised he actually takes a step back.

“You heard what I said,” Ultra Magnus flicks his head to the side to gesture towards the sectioned off cargo hold, “In private. It will only take a moment.”

“I…” Rodimus seems to try to find some way to argue to only clamp his mouth shut and nods and follows Ultra Magnus into the cargo hold.

The rest of them stare a moment after the doors shut on them, the air becoming still.

“That’s not standard protocol,” Krok observes, eyes scanning the door to the cargo hold warily.

“No,” Thunderclash agrees as he turns back to his station, worry sinking into his spark, “it’s not.”

Time stretches on and passes anything that could properly be considered “just a moment” making Thunderclash nervous while he tries to keep his attention on his tasks but every so often he feels the urge to stand up and check on Rodimus. He quells the urge every time, telling himself that Ultra Magnus would never do anything to hurt Rodimus intentionally, physically or verbally. It does nothing to keep him from worrying, it simply keeps him at bay as the seconds tick by painfully slow as they make their rounds over the desert sands. That’s when he sees it. In his haze of malcontent he almost misses a quick blip from their new scanners along the horizon but he thankfully does and jumps into action to focus in on the signal, strengthening it then getting visual on the object. What he sees makes his spark sink: a single battlecruiser with an escort of scout ships creating an intimidating barrier. What’s worse is that he can tell from their current trajectory that they’ve spotted their surveillance ship and are currently moving at speed to catch up to them. He sends off the readings to Deadlock and Krok’s consoles and quickly leaps up to go to the cargo hold’s doors.

Rodimus trudges in behind Ultra Magnus and doesn’t meet his optics after the door shuts firmly behind him. Ultra Magnus sits down heavily on a crate and motions for Rodimus to do the same but he doesn’t budge. His commanding officer sighs before tugging the primeling over and down onto a crate much to Rodimus’s chagrin. Rodimus seethes on the crate, glaring daggers at Ultra Magnus and much to his surprise, Ultra Magnus only gives him an exhausted look in return.

“You didn’t actually break any rules,” Ultra Magnus starts and Rodimus gapes at him, rage forgotten, “With your rank, you’re welcome to the datacombs anytime but you’d know that if you read the handbook.”

Rodimus’s disquiet quickly returns as he begins to flub over his words, absolutely flustered, “So-so, you counted on my ignorance to get me on this trip to… to… what exactly?”

Ultra Magnus looks down, shame painting his face which further unsettles Rodimus for he’s never seen him like this.

“I had been waiting until you were ready to tell you about… about Optimus and his past,” Ultra Magnus explains, his voice almost cracking with a pain Rodimus hadn’t known was there, “When you finally looked for answers for yourself. I felt that that would be when it would be best to tell you but now I see I was wrong.”

“So you did know,” Rodimus’s voice breaks and he sounds on the brink of breaking down, “I knew it. Why wouldn’t you know? You were raised by the same mentor, you worked together even before the war, you’ve fought in the war together for so long… Why did no one tell me?”

“We didn’t want you to worry about him, about your Curae as he is now,” Ultra Magnus clasps his hands together, his regret visibly taking hold, “You were so young and you were still coming into your own.”

“I-I guess,” Rodimus gulps then asks, “Why doesn’t he remember then? Why is it that there are these records but he doesn’t…”

“He doesn’t remember, this is true. It had happened before he took you in as his own and he was still recovering from it. We couldn’t speak of it because it wouldn’t have done well for him or you to have had you, his sparkling asking him questions about a mech…” Ultra Magnus trails off into silence and takes a deep vent, blinking back the sudden memories.

“About a mech he was in love with and wrote poems about and then went to war with,” Rodimus vents out a bitter laugh, “yeah, I certainly would have had a lot of questions.”

“It’s more than that, Rodimus,” Ultra Magnus puts up a hand in defense as Rodimus leaps up in rage, staring at him, demanding with his optics that he explain himself, “They had been together.”

Rodimus sits back down, just staring at Ultra Magnus with his venting picking up and his optics becoming frantic.

“They had been in a relationship,” Ultra Magnus chokes out, “They had dated for decades, nearly a century.”

Rodimus starts shaking his head, defiant in the face of what Ultra Magnus is telling him and denying even the slightest possibility.

“Eventually… they bonded,” Ultra Magnus manages to say and Rodimus puts his face in his hands.

“No,” Rodimus whispers.

“They became Conjunx and still are,” Ultra Magnus says shakily and reaches out a hand that Rodimus quickly slaps away.

Rodimus glares at him, gritting his teeth in anger but at who he couldn’t tell. He looks nearly ablaze, his plating growing bright with heat and his optics glowing with trapped, battling emotions.

“No,” hes says again, more firmly this time.

“Rodimus-”

“No!” Rodimus shouts, “That’s impossible! He wouldn’t just forget that. That’s not something you can just do.”

“It did not happen easily, Rodimus,” Ultra Magnus stands and puts his hands on Rodimus’s burning shoulders, ignoring the burning heat, “When the war began-”

“Ultra Magnus,” Thunderclash calls to him, bursting through the doors, “We’ve spotted a squadron of Overlord’s forces on the horizon and they’re coming right for us.”

His words are punctuated with an inexplicable jostle of the entire ship as blaster fire booms around them.

“We need to warn command,” Ultra Magnus states firmly as he makes his way back on deck, “There may be more converging on the base.”

Rodimus lingers in the cargo hold for just a moment, trying to calm but failing severely and Thunderclash doesn’t fail to notice. Thunderclash walks into his space getting Rodimus to look up at him with a kind of hopelessness that Thunderclash has never seen on the mech. Rodimus’s plating is slowly fading from the heat but he still isn’t on his feet or anywhere near ready for a fight. Not being able to take that look, Thunderclash, in an act of boldness he never knew himself capable of, lifts the primeling on to his feet, surprising him. Rodimus opens his mouth to ask what he’s doing but is silenced as Thunderclash’s lips close over his in a frenzied kiss that sends him reeling.

Thunderclash breaks away, utterly breathless, “We’ll talk about everything later. We’ll talk about this, we’ll talk about your Curae, we’ll talk about everything. I’m here for you. I know you’re in pain, I know the world seems to be falling in on you and I hate that I have to ask you to be strong right now but we need you. I need you.”

Rodimus’s optic’s switch between either of Thunderclash’s in a daze and he kisses Thunderclash again then pushes past him, calling over his shoulder, “We have a squadron to shoot down don’t we?”

Thunderclash smiles dumbly after him then follows with newly kindled confidence in his spark.

Blaster fire rocks their ship as they try to evade the oncoming assault but even the best pilots would have trouble avoiding shots comings in from ten different directions at once. Ultra Magnus had called in their distress and as it so happened, three other squadrons were on their way to the base as well from three separate directions. Back up was sent for them but it feels like they’re taking their sweet time to get to them. At the base, they know they only have three warships up and running and if this turned into a full assault they would be at a severe disadvantage and would have to resort to combat from the ground. Right now, all they can worry about is making it out from under the squadron’s fire and getting back to the base in one piece. Fuel isn’t a problem but the scout ships certainly have speed on their side, so they have to rely solely upon being able to maneuver out of range or out of direct fire. Their flight is rough, full of twists, turns, and full out spins as Deadlock puts the ship through paces better suited to a Decepticon seek ship than their poor surveillance vessel but none of them complain since it’s probably the one thing keeping them alive.

After a few more intense minutes of playing cat and mouse with Overlord’s forces, a squad of fighters comes over the horizon and engages the enemy, offering them cover fire and allowing them to escape. They continue on to the base, pushing the ship to its very limits in terms of speed, making the whole thing shudder from the exertion. The flight is uneven and nerve-wracking after having their left thruster badly damaged in the onslaught of laser fire but they manage to get to the base. What they see, however, doesn’t bode well. A full on battle is being waged overhead of the base with fighters evading and converging on enemy scout ships that are far too slippery for their own good. They tumble through the madness to crash more than land roughly onto the airfield, relatively safe under the cover fire of the anti-aircraft guns firing away into the air with shattering booms. Without much thought of the ruined ship, they rush out onto the field towards the entrance to the base that is just meters away but now feels like the furthest thing in the world. They spread out as they run as they had been trained to, a tactic to reduce casualties by increasing the number of targets for the enemy to hit. It required breaking the innate need to huddle together for safety but break it they did.

Rodimus has never cursed his training before, one of the few things he’s never complained about. He had grown up in war and understood what it meant to be able to protect yourself and others as well as what’s necessary to improve overall survival. However, now he’d offer himself one concession in this ideology. They make it to the entrance with Krok and Deadlock being the first to reach the entrance then Thunderclash makes it just as some enemy scout ships manage to break through their defense and fire on the base. Rodimus runs in dodging fire left and right as they ships sweep over them in a deadly rain. The shots subside momentarily and he’s able to make it into the safety of the base then looks behind himself to watch as Ultra Magnus runs up just behind him. Then, the scout ships make a second sweep and a shot lands just at Ultra Magnus’s feet, off-setting him so he stumbles back. Rodimus’s spark stutters as Ultra Magnus regains his footing and calms when he does so only to still as a shot goes clean through Ultra Magnus’s helm. His brief pause was just long enough for the scout ships to get a clear shot on him. Rodimus had been right in front of him but nowhere near close enough to help him, to pull him along and now he lays in the middle of the field, limp with energon leaking from his head wound.

Rodimus tries to break out into the open but strong, sturdy arms hold him back even as he shouts in defiance. Then other soldiers are storming past him out of the base caring shield generators that they set up amidst shots and explosions. They activate the generators, covering the base in a hazy blue that warps and distorts with the merciless barrage. Only then do the arms release him, letting him run out to Ultra Magnus’s still form to begin lifting him up. Other hands joined in with his but he has no sight for who they belong to, he can only see Ultra Magnus who is all-too lifeless. They all carry him to the medbay and he’s taken from their hands quickly in an almost mindless haze. Rodimus watches in a trance as Ultra Magnus is taken away into a closed off part of the medbay, feeling the last of his energy follow him. The same strong arms come up around him and he falls into them easily, letting the whole world go black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.


	16. Breaking Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The assault on the base continues.

Terror like the onset of a sudden blizzard burned within Optimus’s spark when the message from Ultra Magnus came through, his long time comrade’s voice broken and distorted by static. His sentences were punctuated by the sounds of the impact of laser fire impacting the ship, sending it veering and jostling its unfortunate crew. He’s deaf to the words flitting from Ultra Magnus’s mouth and the calm responses of Prowl in return, his eyes search for only one mech with his vents completely stalled. His spark stutters when Rodimus rushes from the cargo bay to his station and he has to physically restrain himself from taking a step forward to shout out to him. Eventually they lose audio and the squad is too concerned with avoiding certain death to pay anymore attention to the call. Alerts from the mechs around him in the command center let him know that other squadrons are headed right for them. Optimus knows he should be giving orders, that he should be preparing for battle but all he remains frozen before the screen displaying his Amare in mortal danger, being thrown about by the attacks. Everytime a shot hits its mark, Optimus’s spark jolts in his chest, silently crying out in protest. He cannot move, he cannot help him, he can only watch.

A feeling so warm and gentle and yet so shocking overcomes his spark that it makes him gasp, breaking him out of his stupor in much the same way one is shocked out of a nightmare. Much like coming out of a nightmare, he’s on edge, moving frantically in confusion while looking for the source of comfort that slowly but surely becomes all-encompassing. His spark completely calms as a hand lands on his back and he turns to find Megatron, his presence strong and Optimus swears he can feel him all around him. Megatron pulls him away from the screen and leads him down the hall to the hangars where their forces are organizing, distributing ammunition and weapons as they prepare for battle. Optimus slowly comes back to himself in the tide of battle and begins directing his troops, calling for shield generators and sending squads to main the major guns. Megatron is right there beside him the entire time and he notes how reassuring that is now but doesn’t think too much on it with a battle to win. The first wave of the attack makes itself known by shaking the rafters with explosions and the hearty thoom of their own cannons and guns follow shortly after. Megatron calls for seekers to set out and meet the assault head on as the heavier armed ships take to the air to create a protective barrier around the base.

Updates on statistics of ammunition stocks, casualties, and number of enemies and their positions flood Optimus’s hud as he storms through the base with Megatron at his heels. He flies through the flurry of bodies moving about him to give support to one location or another, some handing him datapads of immediate reports that he hands off to officers and squads. The role of leader comes back to him easily as he falls back into the rhythm of war. Soldiers storm past him with more shield generators to defend a weak front and as his optics trace their path his eyes land on his Amare making his vents catch then release in a rush of relief. He almost rushes to his side but hesitates in confusion at the look of horror on Rodimus’s face while he struggles against Thunderclash’s tight grip, his optics looking through the gaping entrance from the airfield. As soon as the troops with the generators make it past him, he’s released and Optimus’s spark lurches in fear. Then, he gets his answer when Rodimus comes rushing back in with his squad carrying in an injured Ultra Magnus and something in Optimus’s chest plummets. Optimus starts to go to comfort him but Megatron stops him and Optimus nearly shoves him away completely then looks Megatron in the eye and stills. Kindness, worry, but above all else, understanding swirl in Megatron’s optics and Optimus nods, they must focus on the task at hand.

Windblade has never had this many fliers follow her into battle before. She feels that they could blot out the sky if they flew much closer together. Starscream and his trine follow her closely on her right and on her left Cyclonus, Slipstream, and Sunstorm follow with a solemn air compared to the bickering and egging on coming from her right. She is grateful for the distraction from her own uneasy anticipation that always hits her before a fight even if it somewhat dampens the beauty of their maneuver. They fly up above the base in a swirling vortex of color and booming thrusters, distracting and dispersing the forces hammering on them from above before dispersing evenly in four directions. Explosions of destroyed scout ships alight the air and cheers crackle through the comms with every ship downed. Excitement begins to flood through her systems along with hope and she spirals into a squad of scout ships, leading her motley crew in for a strike. They catch the pilots off guard and quickly dispatch them with well-aimed shots to their engines, sending them spiraling to their deaths.

In the distance, fliers fall from the warship leading the enemy attack that then begin to make a path for the base. Scout ships continue bombarding the base leaving their own fliers and small fighters scattered and occupied. Windblade sweeps through the battlefield with her squad, giving aid and making short work of the remaining scouts but it isn’t enough. She knows in her spark that at this rate they won’t be able to regroup enough fliers and fighters to mount a counter-strike but they can’t let the second wave reach them. If the fliers make it to the base then they will have to deplete even more ammunition from their anti-aircraft guns and their shields will be severely weakened leaving them crippled and completely defenseless from a bombing from the warship. Her thoughts become scattered and frantic as they blast through scout ship after scout ship that seem to come in an endless number. It’s fruitless to hope that they may be able to dispatch enough in time to regroup but at the moment she doesn’t know what else to do besides attack. She takes another scout head-on, blasting away at guns and essential systems as she twists around the ship like a ribbon twirling about in the air then comes back up and rejoins her squad.

“You seem on edge,” Cyclonus supplies helpfully.

“Understandable with those fliers coming in,” Slipstream says which calms Windblade’s ire before she can snap at Cyclonus.

“We’ll be able to handle them here,” Thundercracker’s voice crackles through distractedly as he takes to another scout, “We have the firepower.”

“Yes, but what about after that, hm?” Sunstorm adds demurely.

“All of you worry too much,” Starscream says, having the audacity to sound bored with their current predicament, “Cover me, I’ve got this.”

“Of course you do,” Skywarp responds, unimpressed with Starscream’s sudden need to show off.

“You’re not going anywhere!” Windblade cries over the comms, “What you’re suggesting is foolish and suicidal!”

“Have you met Starscream?” Slipstream mutters, completely unconcerned.

“Relax,” Starscream says as he breaks off from formation when they skirt the edge of the fight, flying right towards the oncoming storm, “I’ve got this. So, take down those scouts then sit back and enjoy the show.”

“Starscream don’t you dare!” Windblade shouts but it falls on deaf audials as he continues on.

“I knew he was just waiting until we thinned the herd enough for him to go and show off,” Cyclonus sighs.

“He’s just been dying for a chance like this since he and Wheeljack got together,” Slipstream bemoans in turn.

Windblade is struck silent with shock at the sheer casualty they all seem to be treating their ally going off to get killed. There’s nothing she can do about it now however, so she keeps going, downing scout ships here and there. They fall and erupt into ball and flame that would be beautiful if it were not for the fact that it signifies lives lost. Cheers boom in the comms when the last of the scouts are destroyed and the fliers along with the fighter ships do indeed regroup and begin making their way to the warship with some staying behind to offer support. They move in towards the warship at a slower pace than Windblade likes for at this rate they have no hope in catching up to Starscream, their approach almost anticipatory. Windblade transforms above the base into her root mode to hover in place in the air, aided by the thrusters in her pedes and looks on with mixed fear and interest. Time seems to slow down when Starscream transforms into root mode before the oncoming fliers and he waits there until the first of the fire passes by his frame. Then, a noise shatters the air itself with a sound that rocks Windblade to her very spark. She watches in awe as the air ripples around the fliers some of them begin falling after not being able to recover from the rebuff and others begin to separate at the seams from the force of the attack. The fliers stall and fall to the ground, probably unconscious while the rest explode from the inside out due to malfunctioning thrusters and overclocked systems.

Once the second wave is destroyed, the rest of their own forces speed up with Starscream leading the assault on the warship. After the incredible display, taking down the warship feels more like clean up duty than a battle no matter how hard Overlord’s troops fight. They return once the warship starts falling while up in flames, crying out in victory and Windblade transforms back into her altmode to join them. She flies in close to Starscream and patches in a private comm.

“By Primus’s name what was that?” Windblade says, voice betraying her amazement.

“Impressed?” Starscream comms back sounding -for once- understandably smug, “It’s my outlier ability. I don’t get many chances to use it.”

“I see,” she says and ends the comm, wondering what other impossible things these Cybertronians might be keeping just beneath the surface.

Rodimus rouses and looks around to find himself in a berth in the medbay and groans as an ache rattles his helm and embarrassment fills his tanks. No sound beyond the faint beeping of medical equipment can be heard meaning he’s missed the entire fight, all because he let his personal feelings get to him and -of all things- fainted. He’s also pretty sure he fainted into Thunderclash’s arms which is just another great boost to his ego. With remembering that he fainted come the memories of why he fainted and he suddenly feels sick, worry and indescribable loss eats at his spark making him want to purge. A hand begins rubbing circles on his back, soothing away some of the sick feelings and he looks up to find his Curae. A wordless exchange passes between them expressing their relief to see each other as well as the concern they both feel. Rodimus leaned to his side to rest up against Optimus, feeling utterly exhausted. Optimus brings up his arms and pulls him into a hug.

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” Rodimus chokes out, voice breaking with grief.

“No, not yet,” Optimus says soothingly and Rodimus snaps back to stare up at him, hesitant hope lighting up his optics.

“I have to see him,” Rodimus leaps off the berth and rushes past Optimus.

“Wait! Rodimus!” Optimus calls after him, following him to the secluded part of the medbay that Rodimus remembers seeing Ultra Magnus disappear into.

Rodimus breaks into the room, startling Ratchet along with First Aid and Ambulon and begins looking around with wide optics, barely registering Optimus enter in behind him. A hand falls on his shoulder but he shrugs it off and steps toward the portion of the room separated by a curtain and pulls it back whilst ignoring the protest of the medics and Optimus. His spark sinks at what he sees. Ultra Magnus lies still on the medical berth, plating still remarkably blue even with the gaping wound in his helm that makes Rodimus’s tanks churn. The wound doesn’t seem to have any treatment even attempted and rage sparks deep within his spark. He turns on his Curae, optics burning, to see everyone in the room watching him carefully with deep concern.

“You said he wasn’t gone yet!” Rodimus yells, throwing up his hands in anger.

“Rodimus-” Optimus tries while putting up his hands up to pacify him but Rodimus doesn’t give him a chance.

“How is he even remotely okay? His helm is still gaping open! How is that okay? How is any of this okay?”

“Rodimus,” Ratchet says firmly but he continues on undeterred.

“Why would you say that? Why would you lie to me like that? You never lie to me! First I have to discover the Megatron thing, then be told you somehow just forgot everything, and now this? What in the pit is happening?”

“Rodimus, if you just let us explain-” Ratchet tries again but is cut off.

“You should have explained before! Why is it-”

A sharp sound like the tearing of metal suddenly pierces the air behind Rodimus starling him and the rest of the room’s occupants. He whips around to look behind him and what he sees makes him go very still. Ultra Magnus’s entire chestplate had been torn off and discarded to the floor, leaving behind a mess of cables and shorn mechanisms. Small, green servos come up from the cavity and brace on either side and push down letting a small figure to come up from inside Ultra Magnus’s body who then leaps out onto the floor in front of Rodimus. The mech is barely half is own height and sporting what humans would call a moustache. Red optics look up hesitantly him as he gapes down at him.

The strange mech clears his intake and say, “Rodimus, I can explain.”

Rodimus continues looking down at the mech as he says a very soft but very passionate:

“What.”

Windblade walks from the hangars, away from the roaring crowds and into the halls to make her way into the command center. To her surprise, it’s not completely empty. Arcee sits at a console with a cube of energon in hand, staring up at the large display showing a schematic of the base along with other odd bits of data. Windblade walks up to her and when Arcee spots her she gestures for her to sit down. The command center is dimly lit now with not much more than the consoles and large display offering light to gunmetal gray room. Without personnel scurrying about the room feels eerie and uncomfortably empty. Arcee doesn’t seem to mind it however while she sips occasionally at her energon. They sit in comfortable silence for a while just staring up at the shifting display then footsteps breaks the silence and Chromia steps in to look around then walks over once she spots Windblade and sits down next to her.

“Thought you might come here,” Chromia says with a sly grin.

“Not much for crowds either I take it?” Arcee asks cheekily.

“No,” Windblade smiles and shakes her head, “too many people to impress, appearances to maintain, gossip to quell. It’s all so exhausting.”

“I quite agree,” Arcee nods knowingly, “You manage rather well, though.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, not like the Mistress of Flame makes it easy for her,” Chromia mutters.

At that, Arcee perks up and sits up straighter in her chair, more attentive now.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” Arcee sets down her cube and crosses her hands in her lap, “This ‘Mistress of Flame’ of yours. I’m guessing she’s the priestess that sent you on your quest?”

“‘Quest’ is a bit much,” Chromia says under her breath.

“Yes, she is,” Windblade says while giving Chromia a half-hearted scolding look.

“Why is it that she sent you?”

“I’m the leader of the state while the Mistress of Flame is the leader of religious affairs,” Windblade explains, twiddling her fingers in thought, “I am the Cityspeaker. I lead the people in matters concerning governance, maintenance, and many other things. Anything that doesn’t have to do with Primus really.”

“I see,” Arcee hums, “So that’s what gives you the authority to pledge your people over. However, I’ve noticed you aren’t exactly pleased to have done so.”

“It’s true that I am less than enthusiastic to have had a significant portion of our forces sent out on nothing more than a whim but now I feel more assured that this may follow through.”

“Very diplomatic of you,” Arcee smirks, assessing Windblade appreciatively.

“I try,” Windblade leans back casually with a grin, feeling more at ease.

“Would the Mistress of Flame really be able to remove you from your position if you didn’t obey her?” Arcee asks with consternation bringing a frown to Windblade’s face.

“She would claim that I was not obeying the will of the people and then get me removed by accusing me of being a heretic and a slight against Primus,” Windblade’s optics become distance with her voice heavy with old but accepted frustration.

“It’s expected that the Cityspeaker believe or at least acknowledge the glory of Primus,” Chromis explains as though the words leave a bitter taste in her mouth.

“That is a difficult situation,” Arcee nods then sighs, “I personally don’t understand the mixing of religion with politics.”

“I don’t agree with it either,” Windblade confesses, “but it has been like this for a long time. Change does not come easily.”

“Or willingly,” Chromia grumbles.

“Well, in any case, I hope we are what your people hoped for. I wish we were more impressive,” Arcee says sardonically, huffing out a bitter laugh.

“I don’t know,” Chromia muses, leaning against her propped fist, “That little show today was like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“It was certainly… new,” Windblade vents out, remembering how the fliers had been completely decimated.

“Yes,” Arcee rolls her optics, “there are certainly those that like to show off.”

“Is there anyone else like that?” Windblade asks eagerly, optics lighting up.

“Sure,” Arcee shrugs, “plenty of mechs are outliers. Some are just more impressive than others. The most notable being of course: Starscream, Rodimus, and Ultra Magnus.”

“The primeling?” Chromia frowns in thought.

“Yes,” Arcee smiles as she remembers something fondly, “It made taking care of him when he was a youngling very difficult at times. He would constantly set things aflame by accident. The first time he did it… I don’t think Optimus has ever recovered.”

“Flames?” Windblade asks.

“He can burst into flames and is incredibly resistant to heat,” Arcee shrugs.

Windblade and Chromia look at each other, optics wide in realization.

Optimus looks on as Rodimus remains frozen and resists the urge to go up and comfort him, understanding that now was not the time. Instead, he comes to stand just to the side of him as a conversation that should have happened millennia ago takes place.

“Did you really have to do that?” Ratchet calls over, “We would have gotten you out of there after we go the locks unjammed.”

“I apologize,” he says shyly, “but I couldn’t help but hear Rodimus’s distress. I thought I might reassure him.”

“Whatever,” Ratchet says, nowhere near as angry as he could be, “Just don’t expect your armor back anytime soon or at all if the damage is as bad as it looks.”

“Ultra Magnus?” Rodimus whispers, not believing what he’s seeing.

“Yes and no. I’m Minimus Ambus, technically Ultra Magnus,” he explains, “I’m… I am one in the same. I took on the identity ‘Ultra Magnus’ when an infiltration mission of mine… Well, simply put it went terribly and I had to change my identity.”

“Why ‘Ultra Magnus’?”

“No one was ever going to expect that I, a mini, was the one parading around as Ultra Magnus,” Minimus hops back up on the berth as he talks so he can be closer to eye level with Rodimus, “It also had some tactical advantages. Eventually Ultra Magnus stuck as gained renown among the Autobots. So, while the danger might have passed I could not risk people discovering my true identity for fear of the effect it may have had on morale among other things.”

“Who cares if you’re small?” Rodimus asks genuinely confused, “You’re still you.”

Minimus smiles fondly up at Rodimus, “I appreciate that, Rodimus but I fear not everyone would share that stance. I can only hope that you truly do not see me any differently now.”

Rodimus works his mouth for a moment, looking down at Minimus then steps forward and wraps Minimus up in a hug.

“I’m just glad you’re not really gone,” Rodimus whispers making Minimus’s optics flash unevenly with unbridled emotion.

Minimus hugs him back tightly then pulls back and says, “You and I still need to talk.”

Rodimus frowns but nods and lets Minimus lead him out of the room.

Once they’re gone First Aid and Ambulon go as well, leaving Ratchet to grumble over the thoroughly destroyed armor, noting how it may never function the same again. Optimus walks over and taps his shoulder. Ratchet looks up and his firm expression softens at the vulnerability on Optimus’s face.

“May I speak with you?” Optimus looks away, spark fluttering.

“Of course,” Ratchet steps away from the armor and motions to some chairs while moving the curtain closed.  
They sit down, sighing at the relief from the strain of the day. Optimus lets his hand fall limply on his lap, anxiousness peaking in his chest.

“So what’s the problem?” Ratchet pulls open a cabinet and takes out some stashed engex, handing a bottle to Optimus.

Optimus takes it but makes no motion to open it immediately, “I have had some unusual encounters with Megatron now and I believe that there is only one logical explanation for it but I want you to confirm it for me.”

“Oh?” Ratchet says, taking a drink from his bottle.

“I have had instances where I can… reach out to Megatron and him me,” Optimus opens his engex and takes a swig, “That means…”

“You’re sparkbonded,” Ratchet supplies for him and Optimus jerks back as if burned.

“How long?” Optimus whispers meekly, rocked to the core by the confirmation.

“How long what?”

“How long have he and I…?”

“Four-million five-hundred thirty-six thousand seven-hundred forty-two years,” Ratchet supplies on command as if he could count it to the day and perhaps he could.

Optimus stands up and nods then starts walking away, “Thank you, Ratchet. I think I may need some time alone now.”

“Optimus,” Ratchet calls and he turns and looks back, “I’m here if you need. You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

Optimus smiles sadly at him and nods, “I know, thank you.”

With that he’s gone and he heads outside on to the roof, thoughts scrambling in his mind. He drinks down the rest of the engex and looks out over the horizon, deciding what to do. Carefully, tentatively, he reaches out along the connection he knows is there then falls back as a flood of warmth returns his approach in kind and he cuts of the connection in a panic. Megatron is his sparkmate. The affirmation of it is almost too much and now, he doesn’t know what to do.

Rodimus gapes at Minimus after what he’s just heard with Minimus looking tense. He slides a hand over his face and shutters his optics, feeling wobbly, not as much as he had when he fainted but, still, this was almost too much.

“They’re sparkbonded? I thought it was just attraction on my Curae’s part,” Rodimus says airily.

Minimus shakes his head, “It was far more than that. It was much more from the very beginning.”

“How could he have forgotten his own sparkmate?” Rodimus chokes out, a sadness he can’t explain taking over.

“The war began and it tore many people apart,” Minimus looks away, optics dimming, “It separated friends and lovers alike. Megatron and Optimus were on the forefront, both desiring change but it different ways. When the attack by Megatron’s associates was struck the war began initially between the Decepticons and the state of Cybertron. Megatron begged Optimus to join him but he refused and then when the Autobots formed he became their leader which lead to the complete destruction of the state. Fighting with your sparkmate stings, actively battling against your sparkmate with the intent to kill…”

Minimus goes quiet and brings a hand to his face, taking a deep vent to let out slowly, his next words spoken with reverence and yet so much sadness.

“Optimus came back from the first battle against the Decepticons a changed mech,” Minimus gulps down a sob, “He wouldn’t fuel, he wouldn’t recharge. He had become numb to the world. Eventually the pain became too much for him. Instead of letting the pain of a splintering sparkbond kill him -for it was killing him- he forgot. One day he had simply collapsed, optics sparking white as he cried out in pain. Initially we feared that it had finally got to him and rushed him to the medbay but he survived. When he awoke, he had no memory of Megatron being his sparkmate and those of us who knew agreed to keep it secret for fear of it causing another severe reaction that might take him from us.”

Rodimus stays silent for a long time then just stands up and leaves and Minimus doesn’t stop him. He goes down familiar halls that feel so unwelcome now, mindlessly going forward, not knowing where his body was taking him except away. Then, he’s on the roof and Optimus is sitting on the ledge overlooking the desert. Rodimus goes and sits next to him on the ledge, silent and vibrating with feelings he can neither explain or get rid of. Optimus wraps an arm around him and he sinks into the welcome embrace. They sit like that all through the afternoon and evening until the sun sets and the stars start coming out. Whatever this means for them now, Rodimus knows they’ll figure out together.


	17. Torn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Retrimechs decide they need to go on the offensive.

Wheeljack’s had worse days, he can’t remember them but he knows he’s had worse. He’s also been sent on missions just like this one but something was different about this one. As much trepidation as he may be feeling, he knows that this is the right call that they need this information if they’re finally going to be able to go on the offensive instead of just hunkering down in fear while waiting for the inevitable attack from Overlord. He can explain the logic of an infiltration mission to himself over and over again but it still won’t calm his spark. The infiltration mission would be simple enough: take a ship to the swiped coordinates, under the cover of night and signal dampeners they’d attach to the hull of a warship, they take the low paths to a major console and upload up to the main interface, after gaining access they download major schematics and battle plans then high tail it out of there. It’s a simple enough plan that can happen at all thanks to their interception of the distress signal the warship had sent before they blew it to pieces. Said signal led them to discover a set of coordinates that Overlord and his main fleet are hovering around that’s along some remote mountain range. His position offered him several advantages including limited to no foot traffic and cloud cover that in addition with his pilfered cloaking tech, he might as well not exist.

A servo grips his own tightly and he finds Starscream looking at him flatly, optics dim with what Wheeljack knows is worry.

“Over thinking your mission I see,” Starscream sighs.

“As if you’re doing much better,” Wheeljack retorts, his voice light and teasing but it doesn’t meet his optics that are practically trembling with the thoughts tumbling in his mind.

“Don’t give me that,” Starscream scolds but it lacks his usual venom, it’s soft and vulnerable which is far more jarring, “We both know what’s going to happen so let’s not kid ourselves.”

“I’m coming back you know,” Wheeljack vents out in exhaustion, pressing his helm against Starscream’s.

“I know,” Starscream manages, the frown never leaving his features even as he tries to sound more hopeful, “I also know that this is war and I know what Overlord is like.”

Wheeljack takes both of Starcream’s hands in his own with an intent look, “I won’t lie to you, I’m scared. I don’t know what’s going to happen and that scares me more than anything. I’m usually the mech with the plan you know? But we know so little. I have to do this.”

“I know,” Starscream shakes his head, “It doesn’t make this any easier.”

“No,” Wheeljack flick back his mask and presses a firm kiss to Starscream’s servo, “it doesn’t”

“Wheeljack…” Starscream begins but trails off and looks down, seeming suddenly unsure of what he’s going to say.

“Yes?” Wheeljack gently tilts his head back up to look at him.

Starscream bites his lip then speaks quickly as if he doesn’t say it all at once he won’t say it all, “When this is all over. When Overlord is dead and we’ve fixed what we’ve broken on Earth. We’ll return to Cybertron and we’ll reignite the spark wells. When that happens, I want to take in one of those new sparks and care for it and I want you to be right there with me.”

Wheeljack gazes at him, stunned as he processes what Starscream’s said then as it him a wide grin spreads across his face and he kisses Starscream.

“You want to be a part of a conglomerate?” Wheeljack whispers with awe and joy.

“I want to be a part of an unum, a family as the humans call it,” Starscream corrects, eyes serious, “We have a future, Wheeljack. So, you better be there for it.”

Wheeljack nods, spark lighter than before, “I will be.”

They stand there together for a moment, just embracing one another and thinking of what one day will be. A new determination fills Wheeljack, feeling that his survival was not just wanted but necessary no matter what trials he may face. Terror and violence stand before him but he will prevail, he has to. Wheeljack sighs wistfully as he brushes over a light paint transfer from just last night that the seeker still hasn’t bothered buffering out. And just when everything was just going so well too.

Megatron waits on the roof, buzzing with equal measures of anticipation and fear. Optimus’s behavior that morning had not been anything close to subtle during the meeting he had called to discuss their plan to actually infiltrate one of Overlord’s warships. He’d like to brush it off as stress from having to reveal Ultra Magnus’s truth to Rodimus, to everyone along with the recent attack that nearly took his Amare from him but he knew there was more. In his spark he had felt that very tentative pull before he had been shut off completely that was different than the soft hum that had been there after the fight on the warship but thankfully nowhere near as terrible as it had been before the truce. Had it not been for that moment, he would have believed that Optimus’s need to stay standing, to keep his attention firmly away from him, and to minimize any and all contact were the result of the stress from the attack. That had to be a part of it as well, Megatron wouldn’t contest that. Optimus had watched as his Amare was all but thrown into the hands of the enemy and Rodimus almost didn’t survive but there is more to it. Megatron doesn’t even know what he’ll say to Optimus when he gets here, he just knows that something must be said about all of this.

Steps come up and stop just a short distance away and he turns to face Optimus who has replaced his battlemask and something about that makes Megatron’s tank churn uneasily. Optimus crosses his arms and simply stares at Megatron in a way that is far too flat, as if he were not truly looking at Megatron at all.

“You asked to meet me?” Optimus’s voice breaks the air in a tone that nearly knocks the air from Megatron’s vents.

“Are you alright?” Megatron asks, forgetting his worries for a moment and concerns himself with just the mech before him.

“I am as well as I can be,” Optimus replies coldly, “If all you wanted was to check in you could have done so just as easily with a message on my hub. You didn’t have to call me out here for a private talk just for that.”

“No,” Megatron holds out his hands desperately, “there’s more than that, but, if I had sent a message to your hub would you have really responded?”

Optimus turns away and doesn’t respond, his expression unreadable but his lack of answer is all the more telling.

“What has happened, Optimus?” Megatron tries to take a step forward but stops when Optimus flinches, “What has changed?”

“Nothing has changed, Megatron,” Optimus bites out, his hands curled into fists at his sides, “That’s the entire problem. We’re still chasing after each other even after four million years. We’re still right there by each other but what was has become twisted and foul.”

Megatron steps back as if struck, his optics going wide as Optimus continues on his tirade.

“What’s worse is that I feel this pull to you as if it has been burned into my spark anew,” Optimus grips his chest as though it physically ached, “It feels beyond my control and I am terrified.”

Megtron steps forward carefully and places a hand on Optimus’s chest, suppressing a recoil as he feels Optimus go stiff beneath his touch.

“What terrifies you so?” Megatron soothes, restraining himself as his spark yearns to reach out, “I will not hurt you.”

Optimus shakes his head and his voice breaks, “Don’t you see? We have hurt each other. We have hurt each other over and over in our war. The pain was so great for me that I the only way I could survive was by suppressing every memory I had of you being my sparkmate, being my conjunx.”

Megatron doesn’t reach out again as Optimus steps away.

He grits his dentia, quelling the pain, “That is behind us. Our war is over and we are united again.”

Optimus clutches at his helm and ducks as if to block the words out, “You’re not getting it. We can never be as we once were. I don’t even remember what we had. We’ll never be the same. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever.”

He straightens his posture, calmer now but still clearly distraught and begins making his way back to the door that would let him back into the base. Megatron steps forward, hand reaching out but not even grazin Optimus as his spark burns.

“If we can never be again then why haven’t you had your medic sever our bond? Why let it continue to pull at your spark when you are so sure there is to be nothing between us anymore?” Megatron shouts, optics blazing.

Optimus turns fully around, affront and indignation clear in every aspect of his posture.

“Why did you never have one of your butchers sever our bond after the war broke out?” Optimus throws back, just as enraged.

Megatron growls low, “Because I was a fool in love. I had some lingering hope that you would see reason and join me. Then I saw you on the other side of the battlefield not just fighting but leading an entire army against me. That very night I didn’t know what to do with myself and then a pain like nothing I’ve ever felt before pierced my spark and made it feel as though I was melting from the inside out. I was sure that you had broken our bond for what else could that have been? Afterwards, the link had gone dark, only reaffirming my fears.”

Optimus’s stance slackens, his optics flickering over Megatron’s face while words fail him. Slowly, he brings a hand over his chest.

“Then why do you still want me?” his words are soft and frightened as his whole begins to shake, sobs wracking his frame.

Megatron makes a choking sound, his voice sticks in his throat and his mind draws a blank. He hesitates long enough for Optimus to stiffen from the tension as he tries to take back control of his frame.

“We can’t be,” Optimus says steadily and just like that, he’s gone.

Megatron falls to his knees and clutches at his chest, begging his spark not to reach for the only comfort he truly desires.

Minimus thought that a meeting like this would only happen under much more sinister circumstances but as things are, that is very much not the case. Soundwave sits in front of him as flat as ever sending a slight chill down Minimus’s spinal strut. The ping to his hub had been something of a surprise and since it had come from Soundwave of all mechs he knew that it would not be something trivial. Looking around the room now, he could see sound systems and consoles carefully organized around the room that he couldn’t immediately tell the precise purpose of but for all the world hey seem pretty mundane. Along Soundwave’s desks are odd trinkets that Minimus couldn’t begin to fathom why Soundwave would have them, let alone have them on his desk as some of them appear to be nothing more than pieces of meteorite. The entire room is an entire piece of Soundwave that Minimus didn’t think he’d ever know nor was it something he’s particularly comfortable with knowing. Something about it all just makes Soundwave all the more real, not a phantom that puppets the vast forces of the disbanded Decepticons and Autobots but a real, functioning mech with interests, hobbies, and -who knows- maybe a personality.

“Thank you for coming,” Soundwave nods to Minimus.

“Of course,” Minimus responds tersely, eyeing the faint scorch marks around Soundwave’s chestplate that he just noticed.

“I admit,” Soundwave remarks lightly, “it was a surprise to discover that this is your true form.”

“If all this meeting is for is a look into the reasons behind it all then I must regretfully leave since I don’t have time to spare for such trivial matters,” Minimus raises a brow at him, keeping his tone matter-of-fact.

Soundwave jumps slightly in his chair then settles himself, “I am not accustomed to small talk since I have not had much opportunity to exercise that social tool. I thought I might try some out on you before I break into a rather uncomfortable topic.”

“Not very accustomed…” Minimus mutters, perplexed by the mech in front of him and something like embarrassment makes him cough into his hand, “Ah, I see, my apologies. No matter how uncomfortable, I would prefer that we get to the point of this meeting.”

Soundwave nods shallowly and taps the tips of his fingers together lazily, “Very well,” he straightens and levels a look at Minimus, “I am sure you are more than aware of the situation between Lord Optimus and Lord Megatron.”

Minimus jolts to attention, staring intently at Soundwave, “Quite.”

“Please,” Soundwave puts up his hands in a pacifying gesture, “I do not mean this as a threat or something else just as inflammatory. I am simply concerned.”

Minimus relaxes somewhat back into his seat.

“Then what is it?”

“I would…” Soundwave sighs and puts his face into his hands thus catching Minimus off guard, “I would like your advice on how to support Megatron. I am not well equipped in this regard.”

“You’re asking me how to comfort Megatron?” Minimus asks incredulously.

Soundwave nods solemnly and Minimus blinks owlishly, almost not believing what he’s seeing and hearing.

“Well,” Minimus clears his intake, “you see, about that. I’m not particularly well equipped in that regard either.”

Soundwave looks at Minimus for a moment then lets his helm fall to his desk, once again catching Minimus off guard.

“Oh,” Soundwave says.

“Indeed,” Minimus sighs.

Deadlock stumbles as Rodimus quickly drags him from the mess hall back to their quarters with a very serious expression. He had been drinking some energon with their squad when the primeling had stormed in without a word and had simply tugged him up and out. Deadlock went along with it easily, slightly unsettled by the seriousness Rodimus was exuding making him determined to find out what’s wrong now. Rodimus sets him down on a bunk and sits next to him, the same stormy expression still on his face.

“What’s up now?” Deadlock asks, a bit of appreciation for the irony of it all settling into his voice.

“I’m not gonna sweeten or soften it I’m just going to hit you with it,” Rodimus turns to him so fast it makes him jump.

“Alright,” Deadlock says with a blink.

“Megatron and Optimus are sparkbonded,” Rodimus says and it’s as though an entire dam has broken as words fall from his mouth, “They’re bonded and have been bonded for a very long time, longer than I would have ever expected them to be. I don’t know how to feel about this. What do you do when you discover the leader of the faction you had been fighting against pretty much your entire life is bonded to your Curae and…. Megatron’s my Curae. That’s not something I thought would happen. Also, I think Thunderclash might actually like me? He might love me? I was just flirting and I really wanted to kiss him but I think it might be serious. Thunderclash said we’d talk later but there hasn’t been time and what if… Optimus just forgot he and Megatron were sparkbonded. That’s a thing that can happen and- what?”

In the middle of his tirade, Deadlock had broken out into a huge smile and when Rodimus finally breaks he sweeps him up in a tight hug, a chuckle on his lips. Confusion strikes Rodimus to his core and he goes limp in Deadlock’s embrace, enjoying the solidity of it and let’s himself sink into the safety of Deadlock’s arms.

“We’re clustermates!” Deadlock cries out excitedly.

“What?” Rodimus pulls back to look at Deadlock.

“If Megatron and Optimus are bonded then that makes us a whole unum,” Deadlock rests his helm against Rodimus’s, “and that means we’re clustermates.”

“I…” Rodimus says then chokes out a sob while gripping Deadlock’s shoulders tightly.

The prime-to-be nestles his head into the crook of Deadlock’s neck to hide his face as his emotions continue to overwhelm him. A chill runs through Deadlock at the intense reaction making him reflexively grip onto Rodimus’s helm as he begins to try to sooth his Amica, his clustermate. Deadlock snuggles Rodimus close to himself, letting him let out all the stress from the past few days.

“I never thought I’d have a clustermate,” Rodimus whispers into Deadlock’s pauldron, “and now you’re going to be taken away before we can even really be clustermates.”

“What makes you say that?” Deadlock asks as he pets Rodimus’s helm.

“My Curae isn’t going to keep the bond,” Rodimus says confidently, sending a thrill of panic through Deadlock, “It’s hurting him. So, he’s going to break the bond and we won’t be clustermates.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Deadlock says under his breath.

“What else could happen?”

“The impossible,” Deadlock shrugs when Rodimus pops up to look at him, optics dull, “They’ve done the impossible before. I’m sure they can overcome this so long as they do it together.”

Rodimus looks at his hands and says, “I hope you’re right.”

“I know I’m right,” Deadlock assures him and lowers his head to look him in the eye, “and I know I’m not going to let something like this take my clustermate away from me, especially not when I just got him. No matter what happens, we’re in this together.”

Rodimus smiles at him and it’s genuine but it’s not enough to overcome the fear and exhaustion that has been eating away at him since this all began. Deadlock pulls him back into a full hug and grips him tightly, daring the universe to try to take him away. His eyes become hard as something new burns deep within him and determination settles in his frame.

The ship seems to shudder all around Wheeljack as they break over the foothills and engage their cloaking systems. Cyclonus sits calmly at the controls, taking them over as smoothly as possible with Cliffjumper to his right carefully monitoring their scanners. Blurr bounces his leg, sitting quietly in thought to Wheeljack’s left and Tailgate checks his supplies for the tenth time on his right. Wheeljack sighs, he sees how these four work so well together but he can’t really do the “silence before battle” thing. He’s used to wisecracks and blowing off the impending doom like it’s nothing at all. This, however, is the quiet before the storm, the time when you wait not in the room your in but in your own mind. His thoughts bounce around aimlessly without anything to do other than watch as the landscape darkens from the front viewport then flick to Blurr’s bouncing leg then to Tailgate’s nervous movements with his hands flitting over his medkit. He repeats the process over and over, trying to keep his mind on anything other than that they’re headed to what may very well be the most heavily armed warship in the entire sector. It wouldn’t just be any of the warships, no, it has to be the flagship since there was no way to know if any of the other ships would have what they need but the flagship most certainly will.

He stills completely when they reach the peak of the enemy’s scanners, the very tip of their radius. Those in the back all stand, more attentive than ever and staring at the screen that would alert them to anything, any sign of detection even if it’s just a faint blip or fleeting glance from the enemy. They glide along meter after meter, crawling ever closer to the massive hull that looms in their visual, all dark metal and low, red lights meant for energy conservation making the mass all the more eerie. Wheeljack almost gasped in relief when they finally latch onto the metal of the underside of the ship with a clunk and hiss that are both far too loud to his audials forcing him to still for a moment. Rivets are undone and screws are pulled loose with fine machinery on their ships top and Wheeljack would be enraptured by the elegance of the tech if it were not for the setting. Cyclonus sets the ship to an automated state then rises to allow Cliffjumper into the pilot’s seat to stay behind in case they needed a quick get away just as it had been planned. The trapdoor in the roof of their vehicle slides away and reveals the bowls of the warship, alight with the same red that’s along the hull that turns the whole place crimson. Clouds of steam coming off the heated pipes that drip with condensation and coolant obscure some areas and completely hide others. To say the place looks like a nightmare would be an understatement.

Carefully and quiet as can be, they haul themselves up and into the ship and once they’re all through the trapdoor slides shut, trapping them in the warship until the job was done. They all keep low as they walk along passes, occasionally ducking into alcoves to avoid troops on their rounds. Blurr flits too and fro ahead of them and sometimes behind them, his speed allows him to scout out passageways and look out for enemy scouts easily. With his help they reach a major console in no time at all but Wheeljack can’t let himself rest as he begins the upload that is far too slow since now they aren’t moving they can’t move out of the way to avoid attention, they’re sitting ducks. Tailgate hovers just behind him and Cyclonus and Blurr stand just out of the way to keep an eye out. Seconds tick by and turn into minutes after the upload is complete and he begins navigating the network, his spark doing acrobatics in his chest as his optics scan file names almost blindly. He doesn’t really see or process any of the schematics or plans he finds, he just files documents away completely on instinct, millennia of experience guiding his hands. Once he’s most of the way through the database a faint rustling is all the warning he gets before sharp hit and the sound of a body crumpling to the ground breaks the air. Wheeljack turns to see an incapacitated gurad at Blurr’s feet briefly then returns to his work, the slight distraction setting him further on edge.

“Just keep working, Wheeljack, we can take care of this,” Blurr assures him over internal comms, his voice uncharacteristically emotionless.

“We’re running short on time,” Cyclonus pipes in, helpful as ever, “When that guard fails to check in they’ll send in more after him and then we’ll be in trouble.”

“Thank you, Cyclonus,” Tailgates scolds over comms and out of the corner of Wheeljack’s optic he can see the old warrior flinch.

If he had more time, if they weren’t about to be ambushed he’d find it cute or even funny but Wheeljack doesn’t have that luxury right now. His spark jumps and pulses erratically as his hands fly over the keyboard and he rushes to store the last few files and begins covering his tracks. All the records of his access are covered in logs of other users completely by random, his file transfers are cataloged as simple data transfers between internal systems and then he logs out and takes out his drive. Wheeljack straightens and holds up the drive for his team to see and receives a nod from them all before he quickly storing it in his subspace. Just as the beginning of footfall reaches their audials they begin making their way back from where they came. Metal clanks and clatters around them from the heavy movements of the moving troops and they quicken their pace, less concerned with being detected and far more concerned with escaping. Shouts and commands ring over their heads and out of nowhere, two guards are upon them that Cyclonus dispatches with what looks like nothing more than a flick of the wrist to Wheeljack, spilling bright pink energon on the dark metal that looks all the more grotesque due to the red light. The image of glistening energon tainted with reddish hues burns in Wheeljack’s mind as they continue back towards the ship.

Guns cock and engage to their right when they pass through another hall and they all jump out of the way, never faltering in their course. Wheeljack expected he’d feel fear in a moment like this but in the reality of his situation he feels numb. The monotonous drum of their pedes against metal to the tune of the pops and hisses of the rapidly cooling pipes around them mixes with the bursts of gunfire and shouts of the enemies swarming to their position. His fists clench when he spots the trapdoor and he rushes forward with renewed speed. Blurr gets there first because of course he does and he knocks rhythmically on the door and it slides open under his touch. He pauses there by the door and waits for Cyclonus to barge in and then Tailgate is just steps from the door when a gun cocks from somewhere on their left. Wheeljack spots him, a chill running through his fuel lines when he see the barrel of the gun pointed directly at Tailgate and the whole world seems to slow down. He jumps forward and pushes Tailgate out of the way and into the ship, watching as he tumbles into the trapdoor and into Cyclonus’s arms. He sighs in relief just as gunshot rings through the air and burning pain rips through his chest forcing a gasp out of him.

The world becomes strangely quiet as arms drag him through the trapdoor, and together they collapse into the ship with the port snapping closed behind them. His hearing slowly comes back but it’s distant and distorted but he can pick out the grinding of the magnetic secures being retracted and shouting. Colors and shapes blur and bleed together as the ship roars to life as they begin speeding away. White and blue loom over him and his vision clears for a moment to recognize it as Tailgate who brings up a hand which confuses Wheeljack because it’s covered in energon. Tailgate tries to tell him something but he can’t understand, his processor won’t let him. Cliffjumper shouts something and the ship rocks precariously shooting bright, hot pain through Wheeljack’s neural net. He gasps as the pain is replaced by a deep warmth that sinks into every circuit of his body. The sounds fade away as his vision blurs once more and the world turns black.


	18. Rest and Repair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone feels the aftershocks of the mission to gather information from Overlord's flagship.

The Cybertronian night sky stretches over Optimus as he wanders down a worn path that is so familiar to him for he has traveled down it many times to get to the cliffs to overlook the brilliance of Vos in the distance. It shines like a beacon in the distance like a separate world to his beloved Iacon, its brilliance blanketed by the stars above. This time when he wanders up to the cliffs, a figure is waiting for him overlooking the great, normally vibrant expanse that has been turned gray with the night. He doesn’t fear this individual, feeling in his spark that they are too familiar to him to fear so, instead, he approaches them and stands next to them. Optimus opens his mouth to greet the other but then fireworks explode over the city of Vos, the shattering booms of explosions silencing him. Their color and sheer brilliance slows his processor, freezing him in awe as he watches them. Once the display ends, a hand tugs him away and he’s following the figure down another path through the foothills until they reach a set of tunnels. They ask him if he trusts them and he says that he does, of course he does. The figure smiles and leads him into the tunnel and then they go down and down before stopping suddenly. They tell him to close his eyes and he does so then they guide him gently somewhere before telling him to open his eyes and what he sees stalls his vents as he takes it all in. Crystals both large and small line the entire cavern that sparkle in the dim light mixing in array of soft purples, blues, pinks, and whites. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Optimus turns to the one that led him here and they slowly come into focus, like something being pulled slowly from deep within a lake to the surface. Megatron looks at him with a tenderness he had long forgotten about that makes his spark twist and ache. It both is and is not Megatron, for the mech before him is free of battle scars and the numerous upgrades that the war demanded of him. No, this is not the Megatron he knows now, this is Megatron back when Optimus fell in love with him and like a strike of lightning he remembers everything that happened in this moment. This is the very beginning, not when they first met but the day they became something more. Megatron leans in just like he had back then and cups Optimus’s face in just the same way and kisses him gently in that way he liked to, that way that pushed everything aside so all that there was, was him and Megatron. There had been no “I love you”s that night, no, there had only been kisses and whispered words of admiration beneath a crystal ceiling that shimmered brighter than the stars and more sweetly too. Megatron had held him close, like nothing in the universe could pull him away and in that moment, Optimus had believed that to be so.

When they had parted, it was with a kiss and a promise to see each other the next day and the day after that and so on. Optimus had left what would become their spot with a light spark and dreams for the future, a future with Megatron that was free from the imperious government and so full of possibility that he wouldn’t know what to do first. Then, the dream fades away and Optimus wakes up to reality, the reality in which that future never came to pass and in its place was war and bloodshed. Optimus grips at his chest where is spark burns and he has to resist reaching out. He gasps into the quiet night air as the memory of his first kiss with Megatron plays on repeat in his mind, torturing him with what was and can never be again. As he grips his helm, he sobs as quietly as he can manage while longing renews itself within him. Worry stings like an old wound, forcing him from his berth and guides him to the medbay.

When he reaches the mebay, Ratchet is awake amidst the medical berths with a cup of energon in one hand and a datapad balanced in the other. He set them both down when he spots Optimus and offers him a seat that he takes gratefully. Optimus slumps over, tired and worn from his weathered emotions, feeling as though he’d been put through the ringer. Ratchet pats his thigh amicably, getting him to look up and a broken sound escapes his intake making Ratchet frown with concern.

“Optimus,” Ratchet says softly, “What is it?”

“I…” Optimus tries but falters, soft clicks of words trying to form escaping his lips.

“Optimus?”

“I remembered my first kiss with Megatron,” he gasps out finally, “how is that possible?”

Ratchet sighs in a way that lets Optimus know he had been expecting something like this, “You know what’s missing. Before, you had no idea that anything was missing at all but now that you do you’re mind is trying to fill in the blanks, you know what to look for. It’s not like a mnemosurgeon hopped into your mind and erased the memories. You forgot due to a severe reaction to the shock you experienced from directly trying to kill your sparkmate. In order to survive you suppressed those memories, they’ve never truly been gone but most of them may never come back.”

“What do I do about this?” Optimus asks, optics flickering erratically.

Ratchet slumps back in his chair with an exasperated sigh, “What do you mean?”

“How do I make it stop?” Optimus covers his face with one hand, “How do I keep myself from remembering?”

A hand comes over his own and he looks at Ratchet only to flinch back at the pain in the medic’s eyes.

“You shouldn’t fight it, Optimus,” Ratchet implores, his voice soft and vulnerable.

Optimus stares at him, bewildered.

“What are you afraid of, Optimus?” Ratchet tries, his words weighed down with exhaustion.

“I…” Optimus vents deeply, “I’m afraid to love him again.”

Ratchet gives him an understanding look and pulls him into a hug, hiding Optimus’s face in his shoulder. They sit like that for a while as the night cycle passes by, giving up all together on sleep. Then the doors open and people burst through making them jump apart. Optimus looks on with horror as Wheeljack is wheeled in with a partially patched up shot wound sunk into his chest that’s far too close to his spark. Ratchet only has time to glance apologetically over his shoulder as he rushes into the scene, calling for First Aid and prepping Wheeljack for surgery. Optimus steps back and away then exits the medbay to drag his feet towards the living quarters, dread filling his tanks. He has to tell Starscream.

Megatron stares unseeingly at his datapad, his mind a mess after having to reel in Starscream who became understandably distraught after discovering that Wheeljack was in critical condition. Now, with Starscream peacefully sedated on a medical berth he has work he needs to do but he just can’t focus on anything. Wheeljack had succeeded beyond measure and got every piece of vital information they could hope for and nearly paid his own life for it. Many soldiers have risked their lives in the line of fire under his command before and lost their lives but that didn’t make it easier nor did it make watching Starscream break from his normal facade painless. He had never heard his second in command cry out like that before. It had struck a chord with him somewhere deep and he recalls the searing pain from when Optimus had forgotten him. Megatron could not blame Starscream for his severe reaction, his obvious unrelenting desire to have Wheeljack safe in his arms. He only hates how truly it reflects his own feelings, how he has felt during the darkest nights of the war so that it unsettles him beyond measure and he now only wishes to seek the oblivion of recharge himself.

Deadlock walks in, relieving him of his thoughts and he tosses the datapad aside to address his Amare who sits across from him rather moodily. Concern weighs down Megatron’s brow and he begins to speak but Deadlock beats him to the punch.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sparkbonded to Lord Optimus?” Deadlock levels a glare at him and he recoils.

“I didn’t want to upset you,” Megatron flattens his hands on his desk, forcing his words out steadily, “You didn’t need my personal struggle stacked atop your own.”

“But I was-” Deadlock leaps and cuts himself off, gritting his dentia, “I didn’t know he was my clustermate. Even when we united you didn’t tell me I had a clustermate, a brother.”

“What would you have done?” Megatron sighs.

“I…” Deadlock sits back down and looks away, “I don’t know. It would have been nice to know though.”

“You didn’t need to struggle with knowing you had pieces of your new unum scattered on the other side of our war,” Megatron sighs, “In all honesty, I didn’t think this would ever come up. You would have still gotten him in one way even if it wasn’t as your clustermate.”

“Why didn’t you think being bonded to Lord Optimus would come up?” Deadlock snaps incredulously.

Megatron looks down at his hands and folds them carefully, “Until the first fight with Overlord, I had believed our bond broken,” he puts a hand to his chest as the phantom of that severe pain returns, “Nothing else is supposed to create the kind of pain I felt. It crippled me, it nearly killed me for I had not been expecting it. For all I knew, everything had been said and done and there was nothing to tell.”

Deadlock stares at him for a long moment then reaches his hand out tentatively and places it over Megatron who takes ahold of it, not taking his eyes away from it. Deadlock gulps as he stands and leans into a half embrace onto Megatron who stiffens then relaxes under the touch. Something unspoken passes between them and Deadlock relaxes into the embrace then pulls away sluggishly. Megatron turns to him and watches the trepidation cross Deadlock’s face. His Amare bites his lip and scrunches up his face in frustration, Megatron sighs and puts a hand on Deadlock’s forearm, regaining his attention.

“There’s more?”

Deadlock looks down at Megatron then vents out slowly, “When Wing died you said something rather significant and I’ve never forgotten it.”

Megatron’s optics widen in surprise and urges Deadlock to continue.

“You told me that suffering is inevitable but that so too was joy inevitable,” Deadlock levels a serious look at him and puffs up, confidence renewed, “I have found my happiness here, in this peace. I have found it in the form of my Amica, my clustermate and my lover, Ratchet. I have found it because right now we are the Retrimechs and right now… you’re threatening that.”

Megatron goes completely still, a chill running through his spark, “What is it, then, that you ask of me?”

“Make it work,” Deadlock’s optics burn with the demand, “I don’t know how. I admit I don’t know enough to know what to do. I am appealing to you as my Curae for you have a responsibility to me and as a Lord you have a duty to our people.”

Megatron sighs and stands up but Deadlock doesn’t back down, his fists tightening in defiance.

“I assure you, I will not let what is happening between Optimus and I to stand in the way of the peace that has been brokered,” Megatron says wearily.

Deadlock lowers his head and growls lowly then yells, “You’re not getting it! Optimus is hurting which means Rodimus is hurting! If this bond is broken then there will be damage you won’t be able to fix with pretty words and gestures of goodwill. Nothing will be the same.”

“Deadlock, I have tried to reach out to Optimus but he is determined to insure we don’t remain bonded,” Megatron puts a hand on Deadlock’s shoulder, the words settling into his tanks like stones.

“Have you?” Deadlock shouts, snapping his head up to look up at Megatron and making him flinch back, “Have you really tried to connect with him? Or have you just been sitting on your aft waiting for him to come to you like you have been for the last four million years?”

Megatron gazes down wordlessly at his Amare and just stares at the space he leaves behind when he storms out of the room with a huff. He sits down after a moment then turns his head to look at his discarded datapad before shaking his head and attempts to get back to work. Now, he is in need of a distraction.

Windblade wanders down the hall until she reaches the broad commons and looks over the sparse spattering of mechs until her optics land on the mech she’s looking for. She walks quickly to the brightly colored primeling who stands starkly against the others, coming to a quick stop in front of him. He looks up at her, optics worn and expression sour. She hesitates at that but continues on, clearing her intake pointedly, earning a raised brow from Rodimus.

“I’d like to speak with you,” she says flatly.

Rodimus groans then gets up and gestures for her to follow him a short distance away and into a small storage room where he plops back down onto a crate and leans back on the palms of his hands. She folds and unfolds her hands nervously and he rolls his eyes. Feeling a bit affronted she forgets her nerves and stalls her movements.

“I understand that you are facing some difficulties right now,” Windblade says stiffly.

Rodimus scoffs and looks away while muttering, “That’s an understatement.”

“Knowing this, I’m hesitant to ask for your assistance but I feel that it is paramount that action be taken in regards to the lords,” she recites the same sentence she has been rehearsing for the past hour.

“And what exactly would that be?” Rodimus leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees and twine his hands together.

“They need to come together… in terms of diplomatic relations,” Windblade explains, squinting from the awkwardness, “If this peace is to survive they need to show complete unity and solidarity. To do so, they should make a show of it and -at the very least- take on a symbolic bonding.”

Rodimus blinks slowly up at her then breaks out into a wide grin and begins laughing loudly and heartily making Windblade cringe. She had been expecting a reaction like this but that didn’t make it any easier to take. After Rodimus calms down he looks much better than he did before, now with a gleeful air about him if still somewhat subdued and wolfish smile on his face.  
“I’m guessing you want me to help,” he chuckles.

“It would be appreciated,” she admits with a sharp tilt of her head.

Rodimus taps his hands together and clicks his glossa, as if taking in the moment then gives her pleasant but pitying look, “I guess it’s really managed to stay a secret after all.”

“What do you mean?” Windblade’s brow scrunches in confusion, terror gripping her spark.

“I mean,” Rodimus says with an off handed gesture, “they’re already bonded, actually bonded.”

Windblade gapes at him, not believing what she’s hearing and he just nods with his lips pressed together, completely understanding her deep shock. She sinks down onto a crate and looks into the distance like it would give her answer.

“How? When? Why?” she breathes out.

“How? I don’t know but it happened over four million years ago because they were hopelessly in love with each other and then the war happened,” Rodimus shrugs.

Then, everything clicks into place. All the drama that has seemed to rock this place to the very core, Rodimus’s mood, everything, is because this just came to light.

“Then I suppose I will not be needing your assistance in that matter after all,” Windblade jokes sarcastically.

“Ha, I suppose not,” Rodimus scratches at his helm, enjoying the irony while he can.

Windblade curls one knee to herself and rests her helm on it, staring at Rodimus who notices and shifts uncomfortably under the attention.

“What?” he mumbles.

“I’m afraid there is another matter I must discuss with you,” Windblade says softly.  
Rodimus groans and puts his face in his hands, “Can’t it wait? I’m kind of dealing with a lot right now?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, and he can hear it in her voice that she really means it, “but it can’t.”

He snaps his head up and vents deeply, “Okay, what’s up?”

“As soon as the Camiens realize that you can come ablaze and withstand even lava they will begin to lawd over you as the destined Prince of Solus,” Windblade drags out.

Rodimus blinks and tilts his head at her.

“Want to run that by me again?” he asks, clearly tense, unsure if he should be flattered, amused, scared, or all three at once.

“They’ll believe you’re the Prince of Solus,” she repeats and straightens to look him in the eye, “Another one of the Mistress of Flames’ glorious prophecies,” she gestures dramatically and rolls her eyes, “Accordingly to her: the Prince of Solus is the destined inheritor of something she’s only ever called ‘The Glorious Throne’ and has neglected to explain what that means exactly. But, whatever it is, it has enraptured the minds of all Camiens.”

“Not all Camiens it would seem,” Rodimus smirks at her and she smiles.

“No, not all I suppose,” she agrees then her face turns serious again, “She said that the Prince of Solus would possess all the gifts of Solus meaning the flame of creation and everything that comes with it. The lords are believed to bring a time of peace but the Prince of Solus who they will interpret as being you is believed to bring about an empire of epic proportions.”

“I don’t want an empire!” Rodimus yelps, “I’m not even sure I want to be a Prime! Is there any way to convince them I’m not this prince of whatever?”

“I don’t think so,” Windblade confesses sourly, “Once the people of Caminus have something stuck in their heads it’s nigh impossible to change it. Especially if it comes from the mouth of our beloved priestess.”

“She’s a real jerk to you huh?” Rodimus says sympathetically.

“You could say that,” Windblade grumbles while putting her chin in her hand.

“Well, then she’s in for a bit of a surprise,” Rodimus stretches his arms and folds his hands behind his helm and she hums at him questioningly, “Well, as it so happens, it seems as though Solus favors you, Windblade and not the Mistress of Flame or whatever.”

Windblade grins and laughs, “That would be a nasty surprise.”

She thinks for a moment then turns back to Rodimus, “You know, so long as nothing weird was involved in your sparking we might be able to convince them otherwise.”

“Ah, hm,” Rodimus hums, optics going wide in realization.

“What?” Windblade hesitates and eyes Rodimus suspiciously.

“So, being sparked completely by myself in a well at the foot of the Temple of Primus on Cybertron is totally not a weird circumstance right?” Rodimus grins tightly at Windblade.

Her face goes slack as she regards him with a very done expression.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me.”

Brainstorm looks in room after room, looking for Starscream after he found that he had been released and then promptly disappeared into the depths of the base. His spark increases in rate as he finds empty room after empty room the gasps in relief when he spots the kneeling form of Starscream, barely illuminated by the low lights. Brainstorm all but runs to him and skids on his knees in front of Starscream, startling him and begins to say something but freezes when he spots the shallow gouges in Starscream’s chest. Starscream doesn’t look at him but he doesn’t try to deny what Brainstorm sees either. Brainstorm’s shoulders go slack and he picks up both of Starscream’s hands in his and brings them to his own chest, shocking Starscream. Starscream grits his dentia as he tries to suppress the sobs that suddenly threaten to overflow once more. Brainstorm presses his helm against Starscream’s and closes his optics.  
“He’s alive and he’ll recover,” Brainstorm whispers making Starscream gasp out a sob, “It’s true, say it.”

Starscream gulps harshly then vents deeply, “He’s alive… and he’ll recover.”

Brainstorm nods and pulls back to look Starscream in the optic, “Say it until you really believe it.”

“He’s alive and he’ll recover,” Starscream says and then he says it again, over and over as well as quieter and quieter until his voice becomes nothing more than a faint murmur.

Starscream vents deeply again then leans back onto his haunches and nods at Brainstorm.

“There,” Brainstorm whispers, “better, yeah?”

Starscream nods but doesn’t say anything. Brainstorm looks back at the door then at Starscream and flexes his hands, a bit nervous.

“I hope you don’t mind but I called a few people,” Brainstorm mutters and Starscream’s optics snap wide.

“What y-,” Starscream starts but is quickly cut off by a rather chipper voice.

“There you are,” Tailgate exclaims and trots into the room stopping just in front of Starscream, assessing his wounds.

The seeker looks away haughtily then jolts when he feels servos on his chest and snaps back to see Tailgate tending to him, slowly but skillfully healing, welding the gouges away and if it weren’t for the missing paint it’s look like they were never there. Out of the corner of his optic he can see Thundercracker, Skywarp, Cyclonus, and even Blurr and Cliffjumper file into the room. Starscream eyes Brainstorm accusingly and the scientist taps at his face mask bashfully.

“A few people, huh?” Starscream mutters.

“I only invited your trine and Tailgate I swear,” Brainstorm shakes his hands emphatically as he panics.

“Whatever,” Starscream huffs, dismissing Brainstorm’s wild gestures off-handedly and turns to the others, “Want to tell me why you’re all here?”

Blurr falls to his knees and ducks his head before Starscream, “I’m sorry.”

“Uh,” Starscream responds stiffly, not sure what to do.

“I was right there and I wasn’t able to save him,” Blurr explains in a rush, “I’m sorry.”

Starscream’s expression softens and he gently pushes Blurr up gently to look at him, “You weren’t the one to pull the trigger, it was anything but your fault.”

Blurr nods but his face remains pained but he steps aside to let Skywarp and Thundercracker to pass and crowd Starscream in a clutter of limbs. Starscream scoffs but tugs his trinemates close to him, reveling in their warm presence. Cyclonus kneels to join them as well with Cliffjumper leaning against the wall by the door and Blurr nervously bouncing just next to Cyclonus.

“Wheeljack’s a good mech,” Cyclonus says, “I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to do more as well. I’m glad he will recover.”

“Me too,” Starscream says as he leans further into his trinemates.

“He’s a lot braver than I took him for,” Skywarp admits, nudging Starscream with his helm, “Take’s real circuits to do what he did.”

“Yeah,” Thundercracker chimes in while tightening his hold on Starscream.

“Everyone likes Wheeljack,” Cliffjumper calls over, “This was a blow to anyone who’s ever met the guy. I wish… yeah.”

“Thank you,” Starscream whispers, his fear slowly ebbing away.

“I’m glad he met you,” Tailgate says, his optics brightening sweetly, “He’s always been a pleasant guy, fun to be around and everything but he also seemed a little down too, you know? Like his jokes would come off a little sour or his laughs a little bitter but after you two got together… Well, I’ve never seen him happier.”

Starscream’s wings twitch and his shoulders come up, embarrassment overtaking any other emotion.

“It’s nice to find the one that just seems to complete you,” Tailgate says as he looks to Cyclonus who smiles at the mini and take his servo in a gentle grip, “That’s not an easy thing to do,” Tailgate looks down, his optics dimming somewhat, “I’m glad I was able to be there at all.”

Starscream perks up and leans in with interest.

“I’ve had a lot of health issues over my lifetime,” Tailgate shrugs, “They still act up now and again with spikes of pain and exhaustion but I’m much better than I was. Since I had so many health problems I was in the medbay a lot and because I was there I figured I might as well learn what I could under Ratchet. So, I’m glad I was able to help Wheeljack. He saved me, after all. I might’ve been the one to take that shot.”

“Thank you for helping him,” Starscream says sincerely, considering the mini in a new light.

Tailgate looks up at him and puts a servo on his chest, “Healing takes time and sometimes it can be terribly difficult. Any wound with time and the proper care can heal. Some take longer than others but that’s okay, all wounds heal differently and every mech heals differently too. After it’s healed, a wound may act up but that’s just something that happens. Pain comes and goes, worse some days and better on others what’s important is on those days is to take care of yourself so you don’t reopen the wound.”

Starscream considers the mech in front of him carefully then turns away when he feels a tug at his side.

“And you don’t have to do it alone, you know,” Thundcracker says with a tired smile.

Starscream realizes in that moment that his trinemates probably hadn’t gotten a second of recharge without him there. Guilt bubbles up briefly in his spark but he sets it aside, to keen on enjoying the affection he’s receiving now. He smiles gratefully at Tailgate who’s scooped up into Cyclonus’s arms and nudges Brainstorm before nodding to him, letting him know what he did was okay. Relief slackens Brainstorm’s wings and he adds himself to the impromptu seeker pile, adding to the warmth. Starscream sighs and relaxes because Wheeljack is alive and he will recover.

Thunderclash rolls his shoulders, burning holes into the door to his quarters with his optics before venting deeply and letting himself in. Just like he knew he would be, Rodimus is sitting on a bottom bunk and looks up from his datapad to watch Thunderclash enter the room and close the door behind him. Rodimus stands up to face Thunderclash, putting the larger mech off balance but he regains himself and clears his intake. Thunderclash gestures with his servos aimlessly before simply looking at the floor, everything he was going to say leaving him all at once. Rodimus comes up to him and looks up at him curiously, completely in Thunderclash’s space. Thunderclash tenses, and keeps his hands firmly at his sides, waiting for Rodimus to say something so he wouldn’t have to. He waits, but nothing happens. He and Rodimus simply stand there, staring at each other with Rodimus having his arms crossed and Thunderclash standing as still and stiffly as a statue. Thunderclash gives and lets out a vent and brings his hands to rest on Rodimus’s upper arms.

“Are you okay with us talking now?” Thunderclash asks, voice soft and lacking confidence.

“About?” Rodimus tenses, turning slightly away from Thunderclash.

“About this relationship we’ve been maintaining for appearances,” Thunderclash looks down at him with optics filled with longing and pain but also acceptance, “I kissed you on the shuttle and I feel that may have been wrong of me. I’m sorry for presuming.”

Rodimus works his mouth, trying to say something but failing.

Thunderclash relieves him from his struggle by saying, “I just want you to know I could never fake feelings for you. I have loved you for some time, Rodimus. When you made that announcement it felt like…”

Rodimus quickly moves forward and puts a servo against Thunderclash’s cheek, “I don’t know when it became real but don’t think that I acted like that when you recited that poem… Please don’t think I acted like that because I was just playing along.”

Thunderclash grips Rodimus’s servo with his own, his optics shining with his face slack with surprise.

“I admit,” Rodimus bites his lip and averts his gaze, “I didn’t like you much before but I learned more about you the more we worked together. I like you a lot now. I think it might even be love. Whatever it is, I want this to be real. I want to try this for real with you.”

Thunderclash pulls Rodimus close and leans down until their noses are touching and Rodimus gasps and clings to Thunderclash’s shoulder. He smiles sweetly at Rodimus who huffs out a nervous laugh.

“I never thought you’d say that,” Thunderclash whispers the confession like a prayer, “You’ve always been so far above me. I never thought I’d be able to reach you.”

“Are you kidding?” Rodimus cups his face with both hands with a soft laugh, “You’re perfect. You’re perfect and great at everything that’s why… That’s why I didn’t like you but, now, that’s why I love you.”

Thunderclash raises a brow at Rodimus and nuzzles him, “Ha, I never thought the reason behind it would be because you thought I was too perfect.”

Rodimus huffs and closes the distance between them, locking them in a kiss. Thunderclash forgets everything and leans into the kiss, venting out a breath in satisfaction. It’s everything he’s ever dreamed of: the feel of Rodimus warm, lithe frame under his servos, his soft lip plates against his own, and the faint buzz of the beginnings of charge crackling between them. Rodimus breaks away just enough to let their optics meet.

“Recharge with me tonight,” he begs making Thunderclash’s optics go wide and he quickly corrects himself, “I mean just recharge. I just want to be near you.”

Thunderclash nods with that dopey grin of his, “I’d love to.”

Rodimus leads him to the bunk and tucks himself on top of him when Thunderclash lays down who pulls an arm up to rest over Rodimus, reveling in the feeling of having him so close to him. In all living memory, he’s never been happier.


	19. Nighttime Activities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh, people bone. I don't know what to tell you.

Deadlock storms into the medbay in complete rage and Ratchet sets aside his datapad, knowing he won’t get any work done now. He paces for a few rounds just fuming before Ratchet stands up and stops him.

“What happened?” Ratchet crosses his arms.

“My Curae is an idiot,” Deadlock seethes, emphasizing his statement with a flick of his helm.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Ratchet grumbles then embraces Deadlock, quieting him with a firm look, “I know what’s going on. You know I know better than anyone. All we can really do right now is let things run their course. Forcing the issue isn’t going to do any good.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Deadlock mutters as he starts to calm down.

Ratchet gains a wicked twinkle to his optics as a thought strikes him, “You know, I could help you with all that pent up frustration.”

Deadlock snaps to look down at him, optics intent, “...what do you have in mind?”

Ratchet smirks and lifts Deadlock off his feet before carrying him over to a secluded medical berth and plopping him down. Deadlock gasps at the rough treatment and almost trembles in anticipation as Ratchet climbs over him, pinning him to the berth. Ratchet leans down and kisses him, wet and hot getting Deadlock to moan and concede complete control. Skilled hands slide down the sides of Deadlock’s chassis, delving into sensitive seams and playing with cables that make him writhe and buck up, already feeling too hot with such little stimulation. Deadlock moans in protest when Ratchet breaks the kiss then gasps when he feels denta biting down on his neck cables making him grip onto Ratchet tightly. Ratchet’s glossa runs along the bite mark languidly and Deadlock swears his processor is short circuiting. Ratchet moves down Deadlock’s chassis, kissing and nipping all the way until he’s hovering over his panels and places an open mouthed kiss above Deadlock’s valve cover eliciting a low moan from Deadlock.

Deft hands work seams and relax tense cables as Ratchet laps, kisses, and sucks at Deadlock’s panels, making him writhe and moan. Deadlock covers his mouth with one hand in an attempt to quiet all the needy noises he’s making and grips the back of Ratchet’s helm when he delves his tongue into the seam between Deadlock’s panel and thigh, the motion making his panel transform away. His valve is right there in the open for Ratchet to see, his pale, plush folds alight with faintly glowing purple biolights. Ratchet puts his lips over Deadlock’s anterior node and sucks hard making him cry out and tighten his thighs around Ratchet’s head as he cries out into his hand. With a low hum, Ratchet licks at Deadlock’s entrance before sticking his glossa in, lighting up nodes along the way. Parting Deadlock’s legs, Ratchet gets back up to look down at him with a lick of his lips that has Deadlock moaning before gently pulling away the hand over his mouth. Ratchet kisses Deadlock fully and deeply, catching his lower lip between his denta all the while trailing feather-light touches over Deadlock’s spike. Deadlock hooks a leg over Ratchet’s hip to tug him down onto his array and grinds up into him, urging him to let his panels move away.

Ratchet grunts roughly into the kiss at the contact and lets his panels transform away, pressurizing his spike against Deadlock’s valve. Gripping at Ratchet’s pauldrons, Deadlock begins to run his valve along Ratchet’s length and moans at the feeling of his node rubbing against the ridge at the head of Ratchet’s spike. Ratchet stills his hips by grabbing them firmly earning a groan of frustration from Deadlock and positions his spike to his entrance. Once he starts to push in slowly, Deadlock gasps and clings to Ratchet while sinking his teeth into Ratchet’s neck cables making Ratchet grunt and thrust shallowly into him. Deadlock tries to push himself further onto Ratchet’s spike but he’s stopped by Ratchet’s strong hands so all he can do is moan and kiss Ratchet’s neck while his spike is pushed in at a maddeningly slow rate. Once he’s all the way in to the hilt, Ratchet runs his hand over Deadlock’s chassis to array and rubs slow circles over it with his thumb while placing kisses on his cheek, lips, and neck. Deadlock vents deeply as Ratchet starts to thrust lazily into him, keeping an easy and comfortable pace. When Ratchet suddenly stops and pulls out, Deadlock makes a noise of protest but is quickly hushed by another kiss.

After breaking the kiss, Ratchet whispers into his audial, “Flip over.”

After a moment of confused haze, Deadlock complies and feels Ratchet hike up his hips so he’s balancing on his knees with his face resting on an arm curled up to himself. Ratchet’s hand smooths over him from his lower back to just between his shoulders, his other hand still gripping Deadlock’s hip. When the first rough thrust hits his ceiling node, Deadlock shouts and sinks his fingers into the berth. Ratchet is rough with him, keeping his head to the berth while hammering into him from behind, jolting Deadlock’s whole frame with each thrust. Deadlock loses himself in the feeling of Ratchet’s spike stretching and filling him and revels in the loss of control, just letting Ratchet use him like some kind of sex toy. He smirks, fully aware that it’s him making Ratchet lose his cool like this and can feel the desperation building on the medic’s end with each thrust. Then, with a few more thrusts, Ratchet is spilling into Deadlock and the feeling of hot transfluid in his valve is enough to make him follow after him, his valve tightening almost painfully around Ratchet’s spike. He’s venting hard as the aftershocks of his overload wracks his body and almost whimpers at the feeling of Ratchet pulling out his spike. Ratchet’s hands come up and lift him up so Deadlock’s kneeling and leaning against Ratchet’s chest. The position causes some transfluid to flow from Deadlock’s valve and he shivers at the sensation.

“That help?” Ratchet asks hoarsely with a kiss to the side of Deadlock’s helm.

“Immensely,” Deadlock hums, nuzzling into the side of Ratchet’s helm, “but… I think I’m not quite done yet.”

Ratchet lets out a low chuckle and brings a hand to play with Deadlock’s oversensitive valve making him gasp and arc his back.

With a kiss to Deadlock’s shoulder, as he continues to play with Deadlock, Ratchet says lowly, “Needy little lordling, aren’t you?”

Deadlock only moans out an affirmative, holding Ratchet’s forearm in a tight grip.

“I guess we have a long night ahead of us then,” Ratchet chuckles.

Prowl sets down the same datapad he’s been looking over for the past three hours in complete frustration and puts his head in his hands. The information that Wheeljack had retrieved is truly invaluable but the reality of what it contains has caused nothing but a headache for himself and Shockwave. With the plans that Overlord has been making they can’t afford wasting any time in a counter offense. The last few attacks really had been meant to thin their numbers but what’s more is that they worked and worked well. So well, in fact, that they could not afford a direct attack with their current numbers and supplies which leads to them having to find more creative ways to go on the offensive. While Prowl would like to wait for a better opportunity to strike but knowing now that Overlord plans on attacking them in full force in the next forty-eight hours did not leave a lot of options. Shockwave sits stoically across for him, patiently waiting for him to accept the only viable option they have. In fact, he’s just been sitting there with him for the past three hours which is unusually patient. Prowl sighs and nods, giving in but not liking it.

“The only way we have any chance is if we cause Overlord to split his forces thus disrupting some communication between them and luring Overlord out to distract him from leading what forces he has access to,” Prowl recites in a mutter.

It’s the plan they had come up with a few hours ago but Prowl just hadn’t been able to accept, hadn’t wanted that to be their only option but the grim reality is that that is exactly what it is. Shockwave takes the datapad and leans back in his chair, looking at Prowl with his ever-vigilant gaze.

“It is not a failing on your part,” Shockwave says and somehow that makes some of the tension prickling Prowl’s frame disappear, “From the beginning we had been anticipating a peace that involved the complete cooperation of both forces. I had anticipated Overlord making a fuss but I had not expected anything to this scale.”

“Meaning he’s serious about this,” Prowl rubs a hand over his face, “he’s really vying for the throne of Cybertron.”

“Is it a throne?” Shockwave inquires, almost bemused, “I had not thought of it as such.”

“Isn’t that what it is now?” Prowl stands up and looks through the window at the sky awash with stars, “We’re fighting to put the two Lords in charge of all Cybertron now. It’s not a decision between Optimus or Megatron anymore. It’s whether they rise to power… or Overlord does.”

“Indeed,” Shockwave agrees with vague distaste, “Well, I will take our report to Megatron now and we can inform the officers at tomorrow’s morning meeting.”

“In person?” Prowl looks at Shockwave over his shoulder as he walks over to him, “Surely you can just send him a message.”

Shockwave pulls Prowl to him, looking at Prowl intently, “There is something I wish to discuss with him in person. It won’t take long.”

“Do hurry,” Prowl says playfully while running a hand along Shockwave’s gun.

Shockwave drags his arm across Prowl’s chest as he pulls away and leaves the room with the door hissing resolutely closed behind him. Prowl has only a moment to relax, however, since the doors slide back open only moments later to let a forlorn looking Optimus to step through them. Stiffly, Prowl offers him a seat which he takes if somewhat hesitantly. Sinking into the chair with a sigh, Optimus looks into the distance then slowly to Prowl when he finally sits across from him.

“Do you need something, Optimus?” Prowl asks, resting his arms on the table.

“You know what’s going on between myself and Megatron,” Optimus looks steadily at Prowl, keeping his voice soft, “All the officers know what’s happening now and I wonder how many of them knew before…”

Prowl looks down at his hands as he says, “Would you hate it terribly if I said all of them? All of us?”

Optimus sucks in a harsh vent then continues on, “I see. Right. Well, anyway, I was hoping for your-”

“Get back with him,” Prowl interrupts him harshly and Optimus just stays frozen in one position so he continues, “I know what happened. I know everything. I’m telling you to do this because I believe it to be the right course of action.”

“I came to you because I thought you’d be…” Optimus shouts then silences himself and flops back in the chair looking distraught.

“You thought I would be the ‘reasonable’ one and tell you that there would be nothing worse than you getting with Megatron,” Prowl finishes the thought for him with and arched brow, “Well, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to disappoint you.”

“Why are you telling me to do this?” Optimus whispers, sounding desperate.

“I’ll admit I’m not advising this on any sort of personal terms,” Prowl crosses his arms and gives Optimus a long look, “I’m concerned and have been concerned with how your past relationship with Megatron would affect the truce and if the peace would be able to be maintained.”

“You think I’m so truly inept that I would let whatever ill will there is between myself and Megatron get in the way of peace?” Optimus asks, completely scandalized.

Prowl clicks his glossa once and looks back up to Optimus while sucking in a vent, “I have a four million year war backing me up in this respect.”

Optimus goes very quiet at that and folds his hands together, retreating into thought.

“You think I wouldn’t take precautions for this as well?”

Optimus snaps his head up at Prowl at that, “What do you mean?”

“Shockwave and I were in charge of forming the new squads,” Prowl explains, his hand waving in an all-encompassing gesture, “Do you think it was unintentional? Putting your Amares together? I know what needs to be done in order for us to have any hope for the future.”

“You…” Optimus stares with wide optics at Prowl, unwilling to believe what he’s hearing.

Prowl leans forward and levels a glare at Optimus, “If you aren’t going to do it for any other reason like the fate of Cybertron or even your own spark, do it for Rodimus.”

Megatron stares blankly at Shockwave, conflict brewing within his chest at hearing that his own officers had conspired to use his Amare to force him back into his relationship with Optimus. He doesn’t know what he hates more: that plans had been set to manipulate him or that it was working. The pain and rage Deadlock had felt when he came to speak with Megatron had been real, Megatron knows this and for all the world he can’t bring himself to admit he had needed that. Shockwave had gone against his trust but in doing so he had allowed Deadlock to obtain one of the few pieces of unum he has left. It had been his own fault for not telling him sooner.

“You are being incredibly insistant, Shockwave,” Megatron chuckles but it lacks any and all mirth.

“You must act, the situation is becoming dire,” Shockwave, same as ever, ignores his Lord’s bitterness, “You may not have seen it but the troops are beginning to pick up on the fact that there is something wrong between you and Lord Optimus. If you do not act and act soon then there will be unforeseen consequences to a magnitude that I am not willing to risk.”

Megatron sighs, “Deadlock said very much the same thing.”

“Then you agree that action must be taken,” Shockwave steps forward to Megatron looking as he always does when one of his plans gets accepted, almost excited, eager, “Tomorrow we can make the announcement that you and Optimus are-”

“No,” Megatron silences him simply, his tone quiet but firm, “I will not force Optimus into this.”

Shockwave stiffens, his hand still outstretched from his explanation, “What.”

“I will not force this issue,” Megatron shrugs and looks at the datapad Shockwave gave him.

Shockwave slams his hand on the desk, the most expressive gesture he’s ever made towards Megatron, “You will put the lives of everyone under your command in danger! Once Overlord is defeated, if Overlord is defeated the people, your new Retrimechs will look to their Lords and see a divide. Everything, as it always has, teeters on the edge of your relationship to Optimus. He has always been first in your spark. Not the Decepticon cause, not Cybertron, but Optimus.”

Megatron stares unseeingly at the datapad, a cold feeling sinking into his tanks. He looks up at Shockwave, his face impassive but his optics are dim and Shockwave relaxes somewhat.

“Would forcing this upon Optimus really be such a better option?” Megatron asks helplessly, his hand clutching the datapad so hard it strains beneath his fingers, “Would that not simply create a greater divide? I have to let him go, Shockwave.”

“You need not force anything,” Shockwave steps back, his tone returning to normal, “I am not telling you to force a relationship upon him.”

“You were suggesting that we announce that Optimus and I are sparkmates,” Megatron accuses.

“You did not let me finish,” Shockwave snaps back, “I was going to suggest that we announce that while building a foundation for your future rulership of Cybertron has been stressful we have been making significant headway and you could begin doing whatever it is you do to woo Optimus into you berth.”

Megatron’s optics turn icy as he sets the datapad down and stands up to walk around his desk to loom over Shockwave. Shockwave looks up at him, defiant in the face of this obvious act of intimidation.

“You over step, Shockwave,” Megatron growls, “You are dismissed.”

“Yes, my lord,” Shockwave ducks his head and evacuates the room.

Shockwave all but storms through the halls back to Prowl’s office and when he bursts into the room only to find Optimus sitting there in mild surprise he can only glare until the Lord Prime leaves. As soon as the door shuts behind him, Shockwave is upon Prowl, pushing him onto his back onto the table to lean over him, optic burning. Prowl looks up at him in confusion and concern, placing a hand against his helm in silent question. Giving into the inputs flooding his system, Shockwave lays his helm on Prowl’s shoulder with his body following suit until he is completely laying on top of the other mech.

“What is it?” Prowl vents out while soothing the cables of Shockwave’s neck, “What’s wrong?”

“I believe I am experiencing an error.”

Morning comes and with it, a rather arduous meeting. Soundwave winds up being the one to lead it and explain their plan to split Overlord’s forces into more manageable numbers by using two fronts that would split the attention of Overlord’s fleet. Megatron would be put on the front line to lure Overlord to his front while Optimus would lead other, taking down the scrambled forces on his side with the aid of all the seekers. Then Optimus’s front would flanks Overlord’s remaining forces with Megatron’s front and overtake them thus securing themselves the battle and -hopefully- the war. There had been objections to Optimus and Megatron leading completely separate fronts but they were ignored in favor of claiming that not only was it necessary for the sake of the troops for Optimus to lead the other fleet but that having Megatron and Optimus leading the same front endangers the overall chain of command too much. They argue that without one of them to rally behind they could suffer significantly and the advantage they were trying to create would be lost. In the end, their ruling won out much to the frustration of their officers.

Optimus steps out from the meeting only to be pulled away immediately into another office. He looks around dazed for a moment to find Rodimus looking tense. Optimus sighs and nods because, of course, he was expecting something like this, he just wasn’t expecting it to happen so soon. After all, Rodimus wasn’t usually so good at keeping up to date on his messages.

“You’re splitting up my squad?” Rodimus lets out rapidly, clearly uneasy.

“Only for this mission,” Optimus assures him, “You and Deadlock with be joining the forces of my front while Thunderclash and Krok aid Megatron’s.”

“But why?” Rodimus asks quietly, his body language telling Optimus he’s already given in to the command which only suffices to make his spark constrict.

“The two of you will be safer away from Megatron’s front,” Optimus falls back into the role of commanding officer and recites the plan almost effortlessly no matter the look Rodimus is giving him now, “If anything is to happen to Megatron it is imperative that his heir survives. Our front will be free from the risk of meeting Overlord. With anyone else there would be no telling which front command would attack but with Overlord his desire for revenge against Megatron overshadows any other logic.”

“That doesn’t explain why your splitting up my squad,” Rodimus exclaims breathlessly.

Optimus doesn’t meet his optics and vents out tensely.

“I… I trust Thunderclash,” Optimus admits softly.

Rodimus looks up to him, his optics appearing to shake with his confusion.

“I trust Thunderclash to protect Megatron,” Optimus clarifies, his voice shaking, “If it comes down to it… I know Megatron has a better chance of standing against Overlord if Thunderclash is there to aid him.”

Rodimus takes his hand and Optimus finally looks at him and sucks in a vent at the determination in Rodimus’s gaze who nods, the action itself has Optimus leaning onto his Amare. Optimus embraces Rodimus and he swears he can feel the beginning of a storm.

Starscream stands looking out over the field to see the repaired warships in all their glory. They’ve also been repainted and look as glorious as they had when they had first come to Earth to aid them in their war against Overlord and now in just a few hours they would be thrown into the tide of battle once more. In the shroud of the night they will set upon the warships of Overlord’s fleet, ten from the East and ten from the West with he and his seekers swarming in with the Western front. Everything feels shaky at best and the Lords dividing the forces amongst themselves doesn’t sit well with Starscream but he can only say so much. In the end, Megatron and Optimus will do as they will as they always have, and as they always will.

Hands gently pressed against Starscream’s back startles him from his dark thoughts and he turns to find Wheeljack, battered and still healing but well enough to walk around and startle Starscream. Starscream reaches out a shaky hand, his voice getting stuck in his intake with the emotions welling in his spark. Wheeljack takes his hand in his, letting his mask flick away and presses a kiss to Starscream’s palm and, just like that, Starscream practically falls into him. He wraps his arms around Wheeljack and tucks his head into the crook of his neck and in turn Wheeljack holds him close to himself. They just stand like that for a long moment as the sun warms them, feeling content and calm. Eventually, they pull enough away to look at each other and Wheeljack kisses him, their movements desperate and discordant as thought they were trying to take in every part of the other with touch all at once. They break, venting hard now with Wheeljack’s hands cupping Starscream’s face and Starscream’s hands on Wheeljack’s chest and their forehelms resting on each other.

“I thought I lost you,” Starscream sobs.

“Never,” Wheeljack gasps, voice breaking.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Starscream whispers, regaining some control.

“Me too,” Wheeljack says pulls away to look over Starscream then runs a hand over his chest, optics growing bright with emotion, “Brainstorm told me what happened.”

Starscream flinches away and covers his chest, “I’m sorry! I-”

“What?” Wheeljack draws Starscream back to himself, “Why are you sorry? I’m the one that’s sorry. I’ll admit I don’t like the idea of you hurting yourself, I don’t like the idea of you being hurt on principle. I’m sorry I caused you so much pain. Really, you don’t have to apologize. You don’t ever have to apologize for how you feel.” 

“I just…” Starscream shakes his head, “I needed you to be alive and I didn’t know- couldn’t know what was happening. I didn’t even know you had gotten better enough to walk around.”

Wheeljack sighs and kisses Starscream’s helm then takes his hand and puts it over his chest. With a slight wince, he transforms away his chest plate revealing his spark and leads Starscream’s hand to it, placing it on the casing himself. Starscream stares at it with his mouth agape in awe, feeling it pulse and shudder beneath his hand. Unwittingly, Starscream’s own plates transform away to reveal his spark that’s pulsing rapidly visibly making Wheeljack’s pulse faster in kind. Starscream pulls his hand away and almost closes his chest but stills at the way Wheeljack is looking at it, like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He begins to lean in close to Wheeljack who starts to as well then stops them, suddenly coming to himself.

“What?” Starscream asks with fear pricking his spark.

“I almost died,” Wheeljack whispers, “I’m not a good soldier. I’m a better scientist. I don’t want you to die because of me.”

Starscream takes his face in his hands and forces Wheeljack to meet his optics, “You’re strong enough for me.”

Wheeljack kisses him and lets his chest come forward enough to meet Starscream’s chest who meets him the rest of the way, melding their sparks together. The world fades away and all there is is each other. Feelings and memories swirl in a discordant harmony as light and energy courses over their frames and, before either of them know it, they’re breaking apart which halts the sensation almost too abruptly. The world is far too silent after the merge that was so brilliant and full of sound and color. They hold each other close once more with their plates closed as the merge settles into them and they begin to notice they can feel each other beyond the physical.

Megatron walks up the stairs to the doorway to the roof where Soundwave said he’d be able to find Starscream and opens the door to find a sight he hadn’t seen in a long time. Starscream and Wheeljack stand awash in blue light as their sparks almost dance together with their optics glowing almost white. He steps back and closes the door. Feeling off-balance, he leans against the wall and shakes his head, trying to clear it. A memory assaults him, one that he had not dared to think about in millennia, one with grand pillars and the night sky of Cybertron. It had been in the garden Optimus had so loved, the one with the crystalline flowers that formed only in the light of Luna-2 beneath the pagoda of the Temple of Epistemus. It hadn’t been planned but they had been together for so long, it seemed ridiculous that they had not gone through with it yet. What had they been waiting for? Perhaps, all they had been waiting for was that night, the night that would change Megatron’s future forever, the night that will never truly leave him.

Thunderclash speeds along after Rodimus who’s walking at a break-neck pace while towing him along after to the living quarters and doesn’t stop until they are in their shared quarters. Rodimus locks the door behind them and turns to give Thunderclash a very serious look that has him gulping nervously. A million and one situations play through Thunderclash’s mind all with varying levels of good and bad. He clears his intake while trying to shove his thoughts to the side and straightens from his startled stance.

“Rodimus,” Thunderclash steps towards the speedster and draws a calming vent, “What is this about?”

“Frag me into the berth.”

“I- what?” Thunderclash’s hands go slack at his side and Rodimus steps further into his space.

“Frag me into the berth,” he repeats as he puts his hands on Thunderclash’s chest, “We’re about to go into battle, a battle that even my Curae is nervous about. I want something good I can think about before it all goes down and you’re the best thing there is. So, please, go down on me so hard I forget my own name.”

Thunderclash doesn’t do anything for a while. He just kind of looks at Rodimus like he was just asked to answer the question “why do we exist?” and might be having something of an existential crisis. Rodimus just waits for him, optics low with something dark and hungry. Before he can think himself into freezing again, Thunderclash lifts up Rodimus making him yelp and settles Rodimus’s legs around his hips. Taking the hint, Rodimus kisses Thunderclash making the larger mech’s mind go blank and all there is is Rodimus’s lips on his. He runs a hand over Rodimus’s back until he brushes over his spoiler, the faint touch getting Rodimus to gasp into his mouth which spurs him onward to explore the spoiler, stroking, pinching, and rubbing it between his fingers. The attention has Rodimus squirming in his hold while moaning into the kiss, breaking it occasionally to vent sharply or gasp. Thunderclash moves his hand away from the spoiler which makes Rodimus groan in protest but when he pushes Rodimus firmly against the door it turns into a gasp. After readjusting his grip, he thrusts on Rodimus’s panel, jolting his frame and making him cry out before clinging to Thunderclash.

Thunderclash grinds into Rodimus while pushing him firmly into the door with his weight alone while nipping at Rodimus’s neck. His engine rumbles deep and low, reverberating through Rodimus’s entire frame, through his chest and down through to his array, making his valve clench on nothing behind his panel. Wanting more, Rodimus lets his panels transform away and Thunderclash can feel how wet Rodimus has become, lubricants smearing on his still closed panel above his spike housing. Rodimus gasps with every slow grind as Thunderclash rubs against his valve with his spike being worked between their flush bodies. Rodimus tries to reach down to play with Thunderclash but both his hands are gathered by Thunderclash and pinned above his head while he adjusts Rodimus so he’s holding him up with just one arm. Chuckling at Rodimus’s grunt of frustration, Thunderclash continues to grind into him and when he rubs against Rodimus’s anterior node just right, Rodimus’s legs tighten around him as overload takes him. Rodimus vents hard as he comes down somewhat then looks down when he hears a small transformation sequence to see the biggest spike he’s ever seen and bites his lower lip.

“We’re not done yet,” Thunderclash whispers into Rodimus’s audial.

Thunderclash rubs his spike against Rodimus’s soaking valve and dripping spike, earning an annoyed groan.

“Stop teasing me,” Rodimus says between moans, “I want you in me already.”

Thunderclash chuckles low, sending more delicious vibrations through Rodimus, making him shiver, “Patience, my love.”

Thunderclash runs his spike along Rodimus’s valve slowly, relishing the feeling of the slick heat against his spike, still not fully believing this was happening. He finally loses his patience when Rodimus makes an incredibly needy noise and thrusts harshly up against him and he relents. Lining up his spike to Rodimus’s entrance, he kisses him and begins to enter him painstakingly slow. Thunderclash holds Rodimus still, keeping him from thrusting further onto his spike before he was ready until he’s all the way in. At that point, he just watches Rodimus grind down onto his spike, gasping and moaning and savors every expression he makes. Rodimus looks up at him pleadingly and Thunderclash caves. He begins thrusting shallowly and Rodimus moans in pleasure and relief. Thunderclash repositions them so he’s grabbing both of Rodimus’s hips and begins thrusting into him in earnest, feeling the valve around his spike leak lubricant as he stretches it.

“You’re so big,” Rodimus moans into Thunderclash’s neck making Thunderclash’s movements stutter and he can feel Rodimus smirk against his neck, “Hm, you liked that. What if I told you this is the biggest spike I’ve ever had in my valve? You feel so good. Your spike fills me so completely. I- ah!”

Rodimus cuts off when Thunderclash starts thrusting into him harder and faster and he can’t get another word out. The door shakes from the sheer power of the thrusts as Thunderclash takes Rodimus. Suddenly, Rodimus is overloading and Thunderclash works him through it until overload courses through him and transfluid is dripping out around his spike from Rodimus’s valve. Cooling fans buzz in the air and Thunderclash’s engine continues to rumble pleasantly against Rodimus as they come down together. Rodimus nuzzles into Thunderclash’s neck and plants a kiss their.

“Thank you,” he vents out, “That was wonderful.”

Thunderclash laughs low and breathlessly, “Happy to help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 25 is just an estimate


	20. Interconnected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Retrimechs take to the skies in a stand against Overlord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it's been a while. I've been trying to balance my freelance job with life stuff and hobbies. But here it is. The next chapter might not be for another week or so.

The world begins to darken as the ships are loaded up with gear and soldiers. No chatter is heard above the cacophony of trundling crates and securing guns. Megatron wades through the crowd that parts for his massive frame, keeping his face serene for the sake of his troops but -in truth- only turmoil brews in his spark. His destination is clear, a parting in the crowd where Optimus stands tall above the mechs around him in front of the very ship he will board to ride into battle. To any other he would appear bold, ready to take on the fight ahead of them but, to Megatron, he only looks tired. So much has happened in the short time their forces have been united. Overlord’s forces have shaken them to the core, the Camiens joined them, they almost lost their Amares, and their officers have conspired to manipulate them. Megatron sighs and waits for Optimus to finish his conversation with Bumblebee as his thoughts crowded his mind. While he’s amidst reviewing his memories, Starscream comes up beside him and he can feel the criticism before it comes.

“You’ve certainly taken your time,” Starscream mutters, crossing his arms pompously.  
“I don’t know what you mean,” Megatron replies airily, going through the same motions they have gone through countless times before for as long as they have known each other.

“Oh, please,” Starscream rolls his eyes, “You know you can’t hide anything from me. Unlike Shockwave, I actually know when you start thinking with your spark and not your processor.”

“Speaking of,” Megatron clears his intake and turns to Starscream.

“Wonderful change of subject,” he says in mocking praise the sighs, “Alright, I’ll bite. What is it?”

“You will not be coming with me,” Megatron orders more than informs.

“What-,” Starscream stiffens but Megatron stops him by holding up a hand.

“I need you to protect Deadlock,” Megatron explains and Starscream immediately relaxes, “I trust Optimus, but I cannot let his attention be divided too far.”

“I understand,” Starscream nods and leaves to find the lordling.

Megatron watches him go then looks back to see Optimus finish up, the sight forcing his pedes forward as he rushes up to the Prime. He just barely catches Optimus by the hand as he begins to enter the ship. Feeling the tight grip on his hand, Optimus turns around, his face completely unreadable which is only all the more telling. The hand in Megatron’s is limp and still.

“Megatron?” Optimus asks, his voice distant.

“I’m sorry,” Megatron says just barely loud enough to be heard above the clatter of preparations.

Optimus says nothing, his optics flickering all over Megatron’s face as though he were looking for something.

“It has been too long, I know. Whether that is your fault or mine, who’s to say? All I know is that I am not innocent in our separation,” Megatron leaned in close as he spoke, so that no other but Optimus may hear him, “So, I am sorry. I had gotten so lost in trying to let you go that I forgot I might have needed to reach out to you.”

Optimus’s hand tightens around Megatron’s but he stays silent.

Megatron’s lips form a wavering smile before he becomes serious again and says, “I will never be the one to break our bond. I will never stop you should you decide to do so nor shall I ever make you. But it won’t be me. You’re the one I chose. You’re the one I choose. There will never be another.”

He then brings Optimus’s hand to his lips and presses a kiss to his knuckles making Optimus let out a broken gasp. The gesture is made with abandon, with longing as thought there was no one else but them. Without another word, Megatron pulls away, slowly dragging his hand from Optimus’s hold. Optimus heads into the ship once he’s gone and tightly clenches his hand that almost seems to burn where Megatron had kissed it.

The shadow of night cloaks their ships as they come over the foothills with Overlord’s large fleet slowly coming into view, like the clouds of a storm. Deadlock lets out an uneasy vent, hands tensing and relaxing, over and over again as they get further into range. Starscream’s imperious presence just behind him certainly doesn’t help his nerves. The seeker has always been an extra set of eyes for his Curae and for Starscream to be watching him meant that Megatron was watching him and therefore -as always- he can’t mess up. Thankfully, there’s not much for him to mess up. He and Rodimus stand just behind Optimus who’s in the captain’ chair, overseeing their progress as they approach. They don’t even have anything to do but stand there, looking pretty as the ever noble and distinguished heirs of the Retrimech lords. Deadlock grits his denta in frustration, anger, and embarrassment. He normally doesn’t mind arial battles but that’s usually because he’s given his own fighter and allowed to lay waste to the enemy. But now? Now, he’s just being treated like a youngling, like he hasn’t trained for all his life in the arts of war. The thought that his Curae has cut him off burdens his spark for a moment before he pushes it from his mind. He knows better but something about all of this really unsettles him.

“This is weird right?” Rodimus hisses out in a whisper to Deadlock, “It’s not just me who feels that way right?”

Deadlock leans closer to him slightly with a nod, “Something’s definitely off.”

“It’s not just strategy is it?” Rodimus leans towards him in kind.

“No,” Deadlock looks of, possibilities tickling the air, “But if it’s not strategy what could it be?”

“Do you think…” Rodimus’s voice goes even quieter and Deadlock perks up in interest, “Do you think they’re fighting?”

Deadlock’s optics go wide in surprise at that and his vague sense of dread is replaced by amused shock.

“I think that might be it,” Deadlock whispers, suddenly and strangely hopeful.

“What do you think they could be fighting about?” Rodimus steps closer to Deadlock as he speak conspiratorially.

“Their bond, what else could they be fighting about? Us?” Deadlock scoffs.

“Hm, you have a point there,” Rodimus nods and bumps him playfully, “Do you think this means-”

“I would appreciate it if you two would stop gossiping and focus on the task at hand,” Optimus says just loud enough for them to hear whilst never looking from his console.

They both clear their intakes and share embarrassed but pleased glances.

“Leave him be, you two,” Starscream yawns from behind them, “Megatron hasn’t exactly been making this easy for him.”

That gets Optimus to turn around to level a sour glare at the Seeker who only shrugs and returns to parade rest, passing the time idly. The two speedsters snicker and Optimus just sighs, returning to his task while muttering harsh words under his breath.

The moment of levity doesn’t last very long as they come up over the last ridge and come into full view of the fleet. Silence grips them in a tight hold and their vents stall as they simply wait a moment, long enough for a system to beep, letting them know they’ve been detected. Overlord’s fleet seems to consider them for a second then they slowly turn and set a course right for them and then all hell breaks loose. As soon as they begin to detect the enemy’s weapons warming up, the seekers launch from the ships and begin to run distraction. Volleys of laser fire break the darkness and burst against shields and armor as they continue to encroach upon Optimus’s forces. Deadlock tenses his fists behind his back as he watches the chaos, muted by the walls of the ship and quieted video feed, tensing with each tremor. Explosions bloom almost in slow motion in front of him as squads of seekers continue to soar through the air, swarming around the ships. He can see it but he can’t feel it, not really. The cruiser dulls everything with its mass, built to withstand the worst attacks, making it sluggish and very unlike the sense of extended self in a fighter. His denta clash as he sees another seeker shot from the air, feeling helpless while the walls almost seemed to close in around him, trapped. Without a sound, he spins around and leaves the room, heading for the docking bay.

In the hall, he’s stopped by a sharp pull on his shoulder that twirls him around to be face to face with Starscream who’s scowling at him albeit a little flatly. Deadlock stands straight in defiance, unwilling to yield to his assigned caretaker, too worked up about the mess to care about rank.

“You’re not leaving,” Starscream informs him, emphasizing it with another sharp tug but this time it’s more of a warning than a full pull.

“I can’t just sit here!” Deadlock argues, unwilling to watch more soldiers fall at the hands of Overlord while he sat, safe and sound at the hand of Optimus.

“Yes,” Starscream hisses low with his optics burning in a way that makes Deadlock reconsider the seeker, “you can.”

“Because my Curae said so?” Deadlock mutters bitterly.

“No,” Starscream’s voice turns tired, much akin to one dealing with a misbehaving sparkling, “You can stay here. You can leave the fighting to everyone else because if you go out there, the soldiers will fly into a panicked frenzy faster than anything we could contain or control, thus losing us the fight.”

“Why would they do that?” Deadlock’s arm relaxes in his grip, bafflement overtaking him.

“The officers set up precautions should the lords happen to fall,” Starscream releases Deadlock who stands still, trying to puzzle out what he’s saying, “The soldiers have been instructed to take your presence on the battlefield as the death of Megatron meaning our goal will then be to get out of here as fast as possible to salvage what we can.”

“You think that he’s going to die?” Deadlock chokes out, betrayal and terror both warring in his spark.

“We don’t think that but it is undeniable that they have both been compromised,” Starscream urges Deadlock to understand, putting both of his hands on the lordling’s shoulders.

“What makes you think you’ll know? What makes you think they’re too compromised?” he stutters out, feeling a chill spread through his frame.

“Optimus has made no move to break his bond with Megatron despite all of his threatening,” Starscream spits out, undoubtedly frustrated with the antics of the lords.

“You want him to break the bond?” Deadlock steps out of Starscream’s grip but makes no move to run.

Starscream sighs and pinches his nasal ridge, “I want him to come to a decision. It would be far easier to deal with the fallout of either outcome than this ‘Will they? Won’t they?’ nonsense.”

“You’ve always known what you wanted,” Deadlock accuses, feeling suddenly defensive, “You’ve never had to deal with indecision.”

“No, I’m sure Optimus knows exactly what he wants,” Starscream chuckled bitterly, “his indecision isn’t due to a lack of goal but rather it is a symptom of that incredibly unhealthy sense of righteousness he has burdened himself with. He could do with being a bit more pragmatic. Especially when it’s not just his neck on the line. Does he excuse it by thinking he’s protecting us? Protecting us all from what? Knowing our four million year war could have ended much sooner had only someone thought to hire a bonding counselor?”

Deadlock blinks owlishly at him, unsure of what to say. His caretaker sighs then flicks his head for Deadlock to follow and they’re in command again, just in time to watch as the fleet divides to fight Megatron’s approaching fleet in addition to their own. As predicted, the flagship makes a beeline for Megatron’s own.

Megatron had to admit he was impressed by the job the scientists had done in their reverse engineering of the cloaking system Overlord is using wi=hilst having very little data to work on. It’s that device that lets them get the drop on Overlord at all, otherwise this plan might have gone very differently. It seems as though Overlord hadn’t factored in the possibility that they might use his stolen tech against him and neither had any of his own officers if he had any to speak of. The element of surprise allows them to fell two warships before the flagship begins charging straight for them, straight for him. He knows Overlord and knows how he ticks which should mean he shouldn’t have been surprised when the ship charged for them without any care of waiting upon back up. A portion of the fleet does indeed join Overlord but they lag behind the flagship that’s being pushed at full throttle, a clear indicator of the bloodlust currently operating it. Megatron sighs at the ballsy display, suddenly feeling very much his age. Thunderclash shuffles uneasily next to him, put off by the casual display and Megatron has to wince at that, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be used to his casual demeanor when it comes to violence. Starscream had told him it was his own coping mechanism, one that is just as unhealthy as Starscream’s own or Shockwave’s meticulous triple-checks. War has done a number on them all, but hopefully now it would come to an end.

He gets up from the captain’s chair casually and begins making his way through the ship with Thunderclash in tow, still stiff and quiet. Megatron is truly grateful for the other mech’s presence, knowing full well that it was none other than Optimus who had ordered him to be at his side. The thought of that makes a warm glow fill his chest that he has to stamp down because as much as he’d like to believe that it was a sign of Optimus’s lingering affection for him he cannot afford any such luxury as a fantasy. The reality of the matter is that Optimus cares, he cares for everyone, and he cares deeply and undeniably. Megatron shakes his head of these thoughts as he steps through the entrance to the docking bay and looks out through outer entrance just in time to see a lone fighter gunning it towards them in the distance. He orders the other soldiers out of the bay off-handedly as he watches Overlord descend upon them, feeling a small amount of embarrassment. Overlord has always been far too predictable. Whatever Megatron did, he had to do it bigger, better and always with more bloodshed. So, since Megatron had managed to decimate his forces after boldly boarding his warship and fighting his way to command, Overlord undoubtedly felt he had to do the same. A very tiny part of him wished he could not predict Overlord so well if for no other reason than because that would mean he would have little to no connection with the savage in the first place.

With a clatter and a small explosion, Overlord crashes into the docking bay and rips the door from the very frame of the ship, eager for the fun begin. His massive hand rends the metal useless under his grip as one would expect paper to crumple up in their fist. Optics, delirious with excitement, pick out Megatron from within ship and after a faint chuckle, Overlord comes striding out in all his terrible glory to stop just a short ways away from Megatron. He licks his lips languidly, as if tasting the tension in the air on his very lips and shudders faintly in mild ecstacy. Megatron has to swallow back a gag as he stands at the ready.

“What?” Overlord purrs, taking a few steps forward with his arms spread out wide and dramatically, “No ‘hello’? Are we so far gone from each other we can no longer share pleasantries?”

“You know very well what has become of everything,” Megatron replies with a slight tremor of anger lacing his voice.

“Ah yes,” Overlord chuckles, “You’ve reunited with Optimus. How touching? Too bad he’ll never want to lay another hand on you again. You repulse him, Megatron.”

Megatron grits his denta to keep himself from responding, knowing fully well that Overlord was only trying to get under his plating.

“Hm,” Overlord sighs, “We were having so much fun. Then you left,” then his optics take on a new look that bores into Megatron, as if he were devouring him with sight alone, “You know, if you thought your berth was too empty all you ever had to do was ask.”

It takes everything Megatron has not to respond in anyway, not even with the smallest display of revulsion.

Overlord’s posture slackens and his expression becomes dark, “Very well, have it your way.”

Without anymore delay, Overlord rushes him, bring a powerful fist up to where his head is that Megatron manages to dodge but only barely. Megatron strikes back, aiming for the weak plating of his abdomen and neck only for his strikes to be deflected or grabbed at. All of his movements become quick jabs as they dance around the bay with Overlord becoming increasingly enthused as Megatron exhausts himself, trying to evade being grappled. With every blow that makes its mark on Megatron’s body he feels more and more fatigued, unsure if he can truly defeat Overlord like this. He knows his spark isn’t completely in it but he needs to fight, he needs to stay standing. One of his punches meets Overlord’s gut but it doesn’t make as much of an impact as he would have liked. Overlord rises to retaliate and a blow comes soaring for Megatron’s head but then it falters. The behemoth jolts, as if struck and as Overlord turns to find the culprit, Megatron catches a glance of Thunderclash with his fists at the ready. Megatron takes advantage of the moment of distraction to kick out one of Overlord’s legs and land a blow to the back of his helm. Dazed, Overlord struggles to get up only to be knocked back down by Thunderclash. Megatron kicks him in the chest, knocking him flat on his back, looking a little worse for wear. He begins to feel lighter, letting the fight carry him and millions of years of combat guide him and brings down another blow to Overlord. Thunderclash falls to his knees to deal a harrowing blow but a hand snaps up faster than either of them can register and grips the underside of his chestplate to then pull up, tearing the metal along with the motion.

Thunderclash doesn’t even cry out in pain with how much shock he’s in and immediately crumples when Overlord tosses him to the side like trash as he gets up. The next blow Megatron makes is caught by Overlord, know enraged and eager to end this quickly. Pain shoots through Megatron’s systems and he can feel the warm roll of energon running down his frame.

“Megatron!”

Rodimus stares in horror as Optimus falls to his knees in front of the captain’s chair, gripping his chest tightly. Starscream is immediately at his side and calls for a medic. Agony seems to have taken hold over Optimus’s very being as he writhes while only being able to make soft noises of pain and desperation. As medics begin to escort him away, Starscream begins issuing out orders and nods to Deadlock who seems just as horrified as Rodimus.

“We should presume that Megatron is dead,” Starscream says clearly for everyone to hear and it rocks Rodimus to the core.

“What?”

“It’s time to do as we planned-”

“No,” Rodimus steps forward, rage overcoming his shock, “Whatever it is you have planned forget it. Even presuming Megatron is dead we can still make a vital blow. We’re continuing on to the next phase and then we’ll make our retreat.”

Starscream just looks at him for a moment with an unreadable look on his face before he finally nods and cedes ground to the primeling.

“The chair is yours then,” Starscream gestures to it with a half bow.

Rodimus looks over to the captain’s chair and hesitates for just a moment before he sits down and takes in the scene before him. Half of Overlord’s fleet has been destroyed and they were still going strong but their munitions are running low so even if Megatron didn’t take his fall they’d still be short on time. Rodimus first commands for all the seekers to withdraw and rejoin the ships. Then, he orders for a full approach, cutting through enemy ships at half-efficiency that try to take fire against them only for it to cause minimal damage. They annihilate those ships in their wake as they come to the close between the two flanks, pinching Overlord’s fleet and spreading them as thin as possible. Then he orders for a link to be connected with the opposite flank to let them know after this final assault they would break off to the South in a full retreat. Once fully into position, he orders the firing of all systems and the other flank does the same, battering shields and downing fighters and seekers alike. The warships become crippled, some even fall from the sky as they waste the rest of their ammunition and power. After every once has been depleted he calls for the retreat and both flanks maneuver away from the reeling enemy fleet that’s trying desperately to recover from the massive blow. Rodimus orders them to go at full speed, nervous about their now depleted weapons systems. If the enemy managed to recover and pursue they would be sitting ducks and he would have doomed them all.

When it becomes clear the enemy won’t be able to recover in time to catch up with them in their retreat, Rodimus cedes command to Starscream and rushes to the medbay. As he bursts in the first thing he sees is Optimus unconscious on a medical berth with Ratchet monitoring him and Deadlock just off to the side, worrying his hands. Rodimus goes to the side of the bed and watches the fitful sleep of his Curae, his optics flickering behind closed lids, his mouth tensing and untensing in a grimace, and his hands flexing sporadically. A sob threatens to break from Rodimus’s intake but he swallows it down in favor of looking at Ratchet.

“Is he going to make it?” Rodimus asks breathlessly.

“There’s no telling at this moment,” Ratchet says with carefully controlled emotion, “It does depend on whether or not Megatron is truly dead. Whatever happened he’s at least in a lot of pain.”

“Why is this having such a severe effect on him? Aren’t there supposed to be ways to prevent this sort of thing from happening?” Rodimus rambles and clutches at one of Optimus’s hands, seeking comfort where there was none.

“For any healthy sparkbond there are preventative measures,” Ratchet agrees and runs a hand over his face, “Megatron and Optimus are anything but healthy. The measures can only be taken when both members are openly communicating along the bond and are familiar with how feelings are sent along the bond. A fatal or near-fatal blow would have shocked Megatron’s systems into sending every bit of feeling down the bond as a stress response and without being able to mediate the bond, they took their full toll on Optimus, sending him into shock.”

“There’s nothing you can do?” Rodimus gasps, feeling on the edge of collapse himself.

Ratchet slumps back into a chair and Deadlock leans heavily onto him.

“To keep Optimus alive with absolute certainty I could break the bond which would get him out of shock and on the way to mending but that would send a shock through the bond that would kill Megatron outright while he’s in a critical state. Especially with an unmediated bond.”

Rodimus looks back at his Curae still fitfully flinching and twitching beneath him.

“So, there’s nothing you can do.”

“I’m sorry,” Ratchet’s voice nearly breaks and Rodimus knows he is.

He just wishes there could be more that could be said.

Soundwave rushes down through the halls with the thunder of running footsteps behind him to the docking bay where Megatron had foolishly gone on his own. When he bursts through the doors he see Overlord’s hand hovering over Megatron’s spark who seems to be reveling in the moment as he looks at it as one would look at a meal. The first shot is from Soundwave and hits Overlord right in his hand, knocking it away and Overlord along with it. The next he aims at Overlord’s head but it misses as he dodges the oncoming fire. Breaking away from them, Overlord manages to board a cruiser a shoots away to his quickly dissolving fleet to gather what pieces he may. Without another thought for Overlord, Soundwave orders his men to stand down and runs to Megatron’s side calling for medics as he looks over his lord’s wounds finding them to be horrid and painful. Once he’s stabilized, Soundwave can spare space to think about other things and notices another mech being tended to. After a lapse in memory, Soundwave remembers that the mech is Thunderclash, one of Optimus’s top soldiers. He doesn’t look good, if anything, he looks worse than Megatron and Soundwave can swear he sees Thunderclash’s spark flickering.

Optimus opens his eyes groggily to find the ceiling of the med bay back at base and groans as his entire body begins to ache. Eventually, he sits up and sees medics bustling around albeit not as fast as they would be just after a fight so that must mean it has been some time since. He can only hope that it went well. Slowly, he gets off the medical berth only to lean up against it as exhaustion overtakes him and the memory of how he collapsed comes back to him. Suddenly, panic floods through him and he reaches across the bond only for his feelings to be bounced back at him in a torrent leaving him gasping.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Ratchet warns sourly as he helps Optimus straighten himself and settles him back into the berth, “after you were both stabilized a buffer was implemented into your bond so you wouldn’t be able to rile each other up and make your ailments worse.”

“So he’s alive?” Optimus gasps and Ratchet’s expression turns soft.

“Yeah,” Ratchet nods and Optimus sighs, letting himself relax into the berth, “but there’s…”

“What?” Optimus tenses, ready for the worst.

“Thunderclash was severely injured in the attack as well,” Ratchet looks away, his face set in a grimace, “He already had troubles with his spark but this really did a number on him.”

“What is it, Ratchet?”

Ratchet sighs and rubs his temple, “You know I’m only telling you this because you’re his commanding officer and you’re in reasonable health right?”

“Ratchet,” Optimus puts one hand over his as he insists gently.

Ratchet takes a good long look at Optimus then leans onto the berth on his elbows and covers his face with his hands.

“His spark is too weak,” Ratchet speaks to the air, his voice steady and dry, “He’s not going to make it, Optimus. Thunderclash has maybe two days or so at best then his spark is going to go out from over-exertion.”

As soon as he was done speaking a clatter of medical supplies and a falling night stand is heard just behind Ratchet that’s followed by the sound of running footsteps, making them both turn to where the noise had been. They then turn to look back at each other with dim optics.

“Rodimus,” Optimus whispers.


	21. Sleep, My Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the night after Optimus's recovery and things are not as quiet as they should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THIS: There's a bit at the beginning that has some pretty sketch themes like toxic power-play and obsessive tendencies. It's an Overlord sex scene. While plot-relevant, if you don't read it you won't be confused later on. Just wanted to give you guys a fair warning. To skip it just read after the line break.

The space clouded with steam, not worthy of being called a room in the bowels of Overlord’s command ship is dimly lit with red light so the concentrated light of the beings’ optics burn through the mist. Deathsaurus’s many eyes linger over Overlord, his broad wings flexing, almost fluttering as he stretches out with a twitch of his golden and blue talons before the mech eyeing him hungrily. Blue hands run up Deathsaurus’s thighs in a mockery of a lover’s touch, hands that have killed more mechs than any other in this war, personally in bloody passion for there is nothing Overlord took part in that he did not revel in. If it wasn’t going to entertain him, he’d take no part. Now, those hands are upon him, petting seams and tweaking cables as those red optics burn in a malicious enjoyment, taking in Deathsaurus’s form as he begins to come undone. He’s familiar with this sadistic-masochistic game of Overlord’s now and knows very well what is to come. All the same, he puts a hand behind Overlord’s helm and brings it to his panel where Overlord licks slowly as if savoring the taste of his plating, lust and excitement clouding his optics. A heady vent escapes Overlord’s plush lips that immediately turns to steam in the chilly air. Deathsaurus gasps as Overlord triggers the finite wire that forces his panels to release and his spike to come out of its housing.

There had been no pretense to this game of theirs. Overlord had simply called him down into the depths one day and he had believed the behemoth had plans to subdue him which had been true but not in the way he had suspected. Now it’s all about control and Overlord’s complicated relationship with it. The desperation Deathsaurus can feel in Overlord’s movements now is a part of that. Overlord craves power, power beyond any reasonable measure to inflict his sick will upon the universe but he wants someone that can overcome his power and force him to submit. The fight for control and lack thereof is an ever constant in these bouts of desire of theirs. Deathsaurus shoves his talons into the gaps between helm and neck cabling, forcing Overlord onto his spike, those lips of his wrapping around it snuggly as his glossa runs up along the underside. He throws his head back and lets himself fall into the pleasure as Overlord sucks him off as cruel fingers teasing at the folds of his exposed valve, slowly working their way into him.

“I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who want to see your head on a spike,” Deathsaurus chuckles darkly, “but for some reason I don’t think this is quite what they would have in mind.”

Denta nip the head of Deathsaurus’s spike making him cry out and Overlord removes his mouth from the gaudy thing.

“Don’t get cocky,” Overlord purrs into Deathsaurus’s audial while presses a rough circle onto his node, “Remember I don’t do anything I do not derive pleasure from. You are too weak for me to ever submit myself to.”

“No, of course,” Deathsaurus drawls sanctimoniously that is weakened by the gasps and moans Overlord is drawing from him, “The only one you would ever submit yourself to has gotten away from you again.”

“I almost had his spark in my hands,” Overlord vents out as his free hand clutches Deathsaurus’s helm, his optics distant as he recalls the moment.

“But you failed,” Deathsaurus hisses out and laughs as Overlord’s grip settles around his neck, “He’s fled back into the arms of Optimus Prime and rejected you once again as he has so many times before.”

Deathsaurus yelps then moans as Overlord’s spike pushes into him roughly and he tightens his legs around him. Yes. This is what he was craving. The burn and ache that made him feel alive with all the power and destruction that is Overlord behind it. He sinks his sharp denta into Overlord’s neck cables, drawing energon and a sharp hiss from him before licking slowly over the wound, tasting the energon, hot and fresh on his glossa.

“Remember who the master here is, Deathsaurus,” Overlord warns in a sickly-sweet tone as he hikes his legs over his shoulders, “I will not tolerate insubordination. Especially not from precious little pet.”

Deathsaurus isn’t given time or leeway to respond as Overlord begins rutting into him in earnest, pinning those wings of his down flush to the cold metal of their hideaway. The conflict between the chill and rampant heat of Overlord’s frame sends a shiver through him, bringing his excitement ever higher. Overlord’s spike stretches him nearly to the breaking point, painfully good with each thrust making more lubricant gush from his valve. Before long, Overlord is spilling into him, making him feel hot and full. There’s just a momentary pause before Overlord flips him over and without giving Deathsaurus much time to come down, he’s taking him again from behind at the same brutal pace. Deathsaurus sinks into the sensation, reveling in the pain and spread his legs wider for his keeper, knowing fully well that Overlord would not be truly satisfied for some time, not without several overloads. Deathsaurus, however, is more than willing to let him give into some of his most base desires and be used like this again and again. Their desires, at least in this regard, are fully in sink.

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The medbay is still and quiet with barely a faint rustling of sheets to disturb air. Windblade looks over the wounded with an ache in her spark as she stands amidst the berths, not quite sure what to do with her hands. She scans the room from her position slowly, taking in each stony face either unconscious or stiff from pain, boredom, or some mixture of both. The aftermath of the battle echoes off the walls and small puddles of bright-pink energon still stain the otherwise pristine floor. Welds and patches on mismatched armor scar each soldier in front of her, maring them, making them appear more ghostly than corporeal before her optics. And it’s cold. Words can’t find their way to her lips no matter how desperately she calls for them so that she may soothe the aches of their sparks even if she cannot soothe the aches of their wounds. Windblade clenches her wrist in one hand to keep herself from shaking. She’s seen war before and what lay there after, she’s seen higher body counts, she’s seen worse wounds but never before has the time after a battle stung as much as it does now. So lost in her dismay, she doesn’t even try to resist the strong arm that wraps around her and leads her away from the casualties to a seat in a corner. Piercing red optics burn across from her and she’s faced with the imperious presence of Strika.

“Why are you here?” the deep and slightly accented voice of Strika shakes her after bearing silence for so long, “You should be resting.”

“I can’t recharge. I can’t sit still for long. I can’t think,” Windblade croaks out softly, having lost her voice amidst the throws of the fight.

“You keep on like this and you will be of no help to anyone,” Strika scolds, patting Windblade’s head heavily.

“I know,” Windblade curls in on herself, “but I can’t help it. I don’t know why but I feel so…”

Strika sighs and rolls her shoulders, seeming to be completely unaffected by the morbid mood left in the wake of the fight against Overlord. She shakes her head and looks at Windblade firmly.

“So Overlord got away this time,” Strika shrugs, “Big deal. He’s gotten away before. There are only so many times he can run and only so far he can go. If he wanted to rule a planet he could with those forces of his but now what he wants is Megatron and because of that very stupid desire he will die.”

Windblade blinks up at Strika, unsure of the hulking soldier, “You seem confident in that. How can you be so confident when we’re so bad off?”

Strika scoffs and chuckles a soft, hearty chuckle, “You call this ‘bad off’? Let me tell you this is nothing. Why! Once on some backwater moon that didn’t even have a name I was up against a squadron of Autobots and we were outnumbered five to two all of weapons at half power or less with nowhere to turn-”

“Strika,” Windblade cuts her off softly mid-tirade, “what does this have to do with what’s happening now?”

Strika puts her hands on her knees and clears her intake, “We’re in a tough spot, yes?”

Windblade nods, still confused.

“You look just about ready to give up,” Strika says without any bite but it stings all the same, “Will that bring us victory?”

Windblade shakes her head mutely.

“No, it won’t,” Strika’s voice is soft and she pats Windblade’s shoulder, “Right now we don’t need you until tomorrow. So rest. It is difficult when you know what you need to do but you have to wait to do it but you must and you cannot falter. Understand?”

Windblade nods and stands up with Strika quickly falling suit. They begin to walk out of the medbay when Windblade turns to her.

“Megatron-”

“Has lived through worse,” Strika silences her and hurries her away to get some rest.

With one last mournful look at the entrance of the medbay, Windblade leaves.

Starscream looks on the still frame of his lord with dim optics, his face worn down with exhaustion and his wings drooping with the weight of the war on them. He remains standing resolute by Megatron’s berth, listening to the delicate hiss and whir of the machines keeping track of the lord’s vitals as the stench of antiseptic continues to sting his nose. With sluggish steps he walks to the wall and raises the brightness of the light of the room then walks back to Megatron to look him over in the light. Welds and patches cover his chest in a rough patchwork pattern where Overlord had cleaved clean through, leaving his spark bare to the world. Starscream snarls in frustration. They had almost lost both of the lords of the alliance in one night because apparently four million years of foreplay wasn’t enough for the bastards and they couldn’t make a solid decision and now Megatron has the audacity to look peaceful as he remains firmly in recharge. Starscream sits back heavily in a chair and sighs, knowing full well why he was torturing himself here instead of letting himself die of monotony in the impromptu officer meeting.

Security. Starscream scoffs at his weak excuse to come here. No one else had argued the need for it because they all likely suspected Starscream’s need to be away from them all. He didn’t know if he resented them more for knowing or for having the sense of courtesy to permit him to do as he wished. But really, who would hurt Megatron here? All the same, Starscream is here and it seems that only he can see the CPU for the microchips. No one else had caught on yet and he was almost disappointed at his fellow officer’s lack of diligence and almost insulted as some of those officers had managed to thwart him in the past so why could they not see what was about to happen now? Indeed, this is a mess they all expected but few to none had come to anticipate the aftermath.

“You really do make things more difficult than they need to be,” Starscream grumbles at Megatron’s still frame, “If you weren’t good at what you do more often than you act like a complete dumbaft then I would have killed you ages ago.”

Starscream looks at his hands and recoils as he feels how weakly his words cut the air. He stands and puts a hand on Megatron’s arm, feeling the faint whir of inner mechanisms and gentle heat radiating off his frame that show he’s still alive.

“I kept him safe,” Starscream whispers, “Just like you asked me to, I kept your Amare safe. He was rather stubborn about the whole thing but then again he is your heir so one should really expect nothing less.”

He shakes his head, a bittersweet smile on his face.

“I was always envious of you as I watched him grow up under your tutelage,” Starscream sighs and pats Megatron’s arm, “How desperately I wanted such an Amare of my own but I would never dare. Not then anyway. If you had not claimed him as your heir, I would have fought every Decepticon present at Wing’s final rites for the right to raise him. In retrospect, I’m sorry for how much of his time I hoarded away for myself that you could have spent with him but now he’s all grown up and it’s too late. Too late to watch him grow up anyway. However, his first insignia will have always been from you. His first spar using a real sword will always be yours to remember. His first transformation in his adult frame will have always been aided by you. You will always be his Curae. You’re a moron when it comes to that as well. You might not have been his first Curae but that’s who you are now. Tell him how much he means to you already you daft fool.”

Starscream drags his hand away and he becomes solemn again.

“I have to protect him again tonight. This time it’s from his clustermate,” Starscream sighs and groans as he runs a hand over his face, “They’re not fighting, you don’t have to worry about that but Rodimus is going to do something rather foolish. How no one else knows that is a mystery to me. He’s going to do what you begged us to let you go and do when you thought Optimus was dying all those millenia ago. I hope you can forgive that I’m not going to stop him but if this goes poorly I will be there to help Deadlock to his feet again as I always have, as you always do. He will not be alone. This, I swear.”

Rodimus rests in the cradle of Deadlock’s arms, feeling exhausted after crying his spark out into the dark, abandoned Commons. Tailgate sits just a few feet away waiting to see if Rodimus was going to be alright after rushing after him upon the orders of Ratchet. The field medic had sat quietly without judgement, optics filled with concern for however long they had been out here, never saying a word and Rodimus almost hates how much of a comfort it is to have him here as well. Deadlock has been here the whole time as well, he was the one to catch Rodimus when his legs gave out as his feelings became too much bare. Now his clustermate refuses to let him go, keeping him in a vice grip and pouring out as much support as he can into the embrace and Rodimus is grateful for every drop. Rodimus wishes he could reassure Deadlock that he was going to be okay, that he’ll feel better in no time but they all know what the truth is. Thunderclash is dying. Thunderclash is dying and there’s nothing that can be done. There’s nothing he can do.

“I should have figured it out sooner,” Rodimus whispers.

“What should you have figured out?” Deadlock says and begins petting Rodimus’s helm soothingly.

“I should have known that I love him, that I’ve loved him for a while,” Rodimus chokes out, “but now it’s too late.”

“What would that have changed?”

“I would have been able to kiss him more, have more quiet nights with him, just… have him there,” Rodimus sobs.

Deadlock shakes and tucks his face into Rodimus’s shoulder, frustrated with how useless he feels.

“Tailgate?” Deadlock chokes out making the minbot perk up, “Hypothetically, what would be able to save Thunderclash if we had every possible resource available to us?”  
Tailgate stays quiet for a moment then hops up and comes up closer, resting a hand on Rodimus, “Nothing good comes from lingering on ‘what if’s, Deadlock. All that can be done has been done.”

“Indulge us?” Rodimus pipes up softly, still a bit smothered by Deadlock’s tight embrace.

Tailgate studies Rodimus for a moment then sighs, “Ideally we’d have some way to steadily boost the energy of his spark with tampering with its frequency. While more power would give him a boost, if it’s not a steady stream it would just make him burn out faster. Even if we were able to manage a steady feed of power, if the frequency isn’t maintained then he would suffer from spasms and inevitably shock that would cause his major systems to shut down one by one. We just don’t have the tech that can maintain a spark to as finite a level as we would need to repair the damage done to Thunderclash’s spark.”

Rodimus buries his face further into Deadlock’s arms and doesn’t say anything, too distraught to say anything more. Seconds tick by, precious seconds that mean they’re that much closer to bidding Thunderclash farewell for good. A gripping pain takes ahold of Rodimus’s spark and he chokes out another sob. Deadlock flinches at it, unreasonably ashamed by his inability to help other than simply holding him.

“Well,” Tailgate says, as a sudden thought strikes him, “other than a spark itself of course. Sparks are rather good at regulating themselves and the delicate circuitry around them maintains the balance which is the real cause of Thunderclash’s issue. Overlord did a real number on his casing and finer maintenance components.”

Rodimus gets up slowly with an intent shine to his optics and snaps his attention to Tailgate. A shiver runs down Tailgate’s spinal strut with a sense of dread filling his chest then it hits him and he leaps up at the same time Rodimus does.

“No! Rodimus!” Tailgate speeds after Rodimus who’s now running towards the medbay with Deadlock at his heels.

Deadlock catches up to them fairly quickly and begins demanding to be told what Rodimus plans to do but is brushed off everytime by Rodimus in favor of getting to the medbay as fast as possible. As they run, Tailgate curses his short legs because if he could only move a bit faster he could stop Rodimus but he didn’t dare transform knowing that Rodimus would just do the same. Their race would attract too much attention and turn this into a complete spectacle which is not what they need right now. Rodimus makes it to the medbay still with Deadlock at his heels and he begins to look in the rooms, unsure of where Thunderclash had been admitted. This gives Tailgate enough time to catch up and drag the two of them to a halt with sheer force alone.

“Rodimus! You can’t do this!” Tailgate warns as loud as he dares with sleeping patients in the other room.

“Let go, Tailgate, you can’t stop me,” Rodimus tugs at Tailgate’s grip on his wrist, “I’ve made up my mind.”

“Do what?” Deadlock flails his free hand in a clueless gesture, “You won’t even tell me what you’re doing.”

Rodimus stills and doesn’t look at Deadlock, his face grim. Tailgate flicks his head in annoyance and addresses Deadlock.

“He’s gone insane and decided he’s going to spark merge with Thunderclash in order to stabilize his spark,” Tailgate explains sharply.

“You’re going to what?” Deadlock hisses at Rodimus, “Rodimus, his spark is barely strong enough to hold up on its own right now. The strain alone could kill you not to mention what aftereffects you’ll have to deal with. You barely just figured out you love him! You’re going to bond with him just like that?”

“He’s dying Lock,” Rodimus chokes out, his calm demeanor breaking just enough to let the pain shine through again.

Deadlock’s optics flick between Rodimus’s, his face unreadable and just as he’s about to say something someone clears their intake from behind Tailgate. They all turn and find Starscream walking towards them, giving them all an assessing look before stopping right in front of them.

“What’s all this?” Starscream looks between each of them, almost amused.

“Rodimus is planning on merging with Thunderclash to save him and likely get himself killed in the process,” Tailgate explains, throwing an aggravated look at the primeling.

Rodimus opens his mouth to say something but Starscream silences him with a hand, “That’s very dangerous, Rodimus. Think of all the possible consequences even a successful merge would lead to.”

“I can’t just sit around when I know I can do something,” Rodimus implores, tugging his arm in Tailgate’s grip uselessly.

“Tailgate,” Starscream puts his arms behind his back as he gives his commands, “Release them and immediately report this to Optimus and Ratchet. Please bring them here to talk some sense into Rodimus. In the meantime, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Tailgate releases his hold slowly, making sure that they weren’t going to run away and nods to Starscream before quickly running in the direction of Optimus’s quarters.

“Starscream-” Rodimus begins but Starscream cuts him off again.

“Come on,” Starscream calls and gestures for them to follow him, “we don’t have much time.”

They follow him without another word down the hall and into Thunderclash’s room. When Starscream brightens the light, he can hear the two speedsters gasp from behind him and he can’t blame them for their shock. The tubes and wires connected to the opening in Thunderclash’s chest that are keeping him alive for as long as they can are a rather grizzly sight. He walks to the other side of the medical berth and motions Rodimus forward who walks over with only some reluctance. Rodimus puts one hand on the edge of the berth and leans over Thunderclash, taking him in and his optics flash with pain at the sight of his love in such a state. Thunderclash’s spark sputters and quakes in its housing almost grotesquely and Rodimus has to swallow another cry.

“Are you sure about this, Roddy?” Deadlock calls over, pulling their attention away from Thunderclash.

Rodimus looks back at Starscream who only shrugs.

“Yeah,” Rodimus nods and swallows thickly, “If I can save him, I will.”

Without another word, Rodimus opens his chest plates to reveal his brilliant, blue spark and Starscream has to shield his eyes at the sight of it. Rodimus lowers himself carefully to Thunderclash’s weakening spark, making light bloom and fill the entire room when their sparks finally meet. Rodimus feels a flash of searing pain before he falls deaf and blind to the world around him, becoming completely subsumed into Thunderclash. The sensation that crashes over him is one very much akin to falling into light recharge as a confused mess of memories and emotions tangle around him, threatening to drag him under to meet the same fate as Thunderclash. He fights off the dizzying whirl and breaks through the fatigue, intent on his task and amidst the chaos it’s almost like he can see Thunderclash. Rushing towards that sensation, he calls out with his spark to Thunderclash and without any hesitation he’s answered.

A pounding on his door awakens Optimus suddenly from his recharge and he quickly makes his way over to open it to find a very distraught Tailgate and sleep-deprived Ratchet in front of him.

“What-”

“It’s Rodimus!” Tailgate yelps, “He wants to merge with Thunderclash to try and save him. You have to hurry and talk some sense into him. He’s already in the medbay.”

Optimus pushes past both of them and runs to the medbay, his abused spark be damned. He bursts into the medbay and pauses to look around, unsure where to turn next until Ratchet calls out directions from behind him and he’s off again. Optimus bursts through the doors to find Rodimus snapping his chest plates shut, still bent slightly over Thunderclash, looking stunned. He’s sees Deadlock watching him with his arms crossed out of the corner of his optic as he marches forward and briefly glances to Starscream who’s looking at Thunderclash as if expecting something. Optimus takes Rodimus by the shoulders and checks him over for any sign of injury but finds nothing except for being a bit fatigued. He draws back, satisfied and lets rage overcome his concern.

“What are you thinking? You could get yourself killed like this!” Optimus shouts and Ratchet quickly hushes him as he stumbles into the room closely followed by Tailgate.

“What else was I supposed to do? Let him die?” Rodimus snaps back.

Optimus scowls for a moment then asks, “What?”

“I merged with him because that was the only thing that was going to save him,” Rodimus pushes Optimus’s hands off of him and looks back at Thunderclash.

Optimus follows his gaze, as does Ratchet who immediately goes to check on Thunderclash who does seem to be looking remarkably better.

“You already merged with him?” Optimus whispers, unsure how to feel now.

“Yeah,” Rodimus responds flatly, still not looking away from Thunderclash.

“Ratchet?” Optimus asks numbly as the medic walks back to them.

“He’s going to make it,” Ratchet grumbles at them, exhaustion weighing down his words, “Pit, he’ll probably be better than he’s ever been after being supercharged by Rodimus’s abnormal spark.”

Optimus snaps back to Rodimus, “That doesn’t excuse your blatant disregard-”

“Oh! My blatant disregard for my own safety?” Rodimus shouts and Optimus goes quiet, studying the primeling.

“Rodimus?” a voice breaks through weakly and they all look to find Thunderclash sitting up with his plates closed, the tubes and cables already removed by Ratchet, “Why are you yelling?”

Rodimus goes to Thunderclash’s side and takes him by the hand, awe and relief blazing brightly in his optics.

“How are you feeling?” Rodimus whispers.

Thunderclash shakes himself gently then takes in the situation in full, confusion dawning on his face as he looks around.

“Fine,” Thunderclash mutters then looks at Rodimus intently, “What’s going on?”

“Rodimus saved you while you were on death’s door by merging his spark with yours,” Starscream explains and Thunderclash’s optics widen.

Rodimus smiles sheepishly at him, suddenly self conscious.

“Rodimus…” Thunderclash whispers and takes his hand in both of his, “You could have died.”

“You would have died,” Rodimus retorts, squeezing Thunderclash’s hands tightly with his, “What would I have done then?”

“Lived,” Thunderclash gasps and moves to cup Rodimus’s face in his hands, “You would have lived because you are everything. You would have lived because I would never want you to sacrifice yourself for me. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Rodimus whispers and kisses Thunderclash who melts into it despite himself.

“Rodimus-” Ratchet begins another rant but Optimus stops him, shaking his head.

“Let him have this, Ratchet. We’ll have time to discipline him tomorrow,” Optimus says gently, watching his Amare with distant optics.

Ratchet studies his old friend, his expression turning understanding and backs off but turns on Deadlock who grins guiltily then lets himself get dragged away by Ratchet for his own scolding. Tailgate takes that moment to back out of the room, relieving himself of this nonsense and Optimus can’t blame the mech for wanting to escape.

“Rodimus,” Thunderclash gasps breathlessly as they break the kiss, “this… We’re bonded.”

Rodimus frowns and looks down at his lap, ashamed, “Yeah… I know it’s way too fast for what we have. I’m sorry but I really couldn’t lose you. Please don’t be angry.”

“Angry?” Thunderclash laughs and Rodimus snaps up to look at him, “Why would I be angry at you for giving me everything I’ve ever wanted for the past few millennia?”

Rodimus smiles and buries his face into the crook of Thunderclash’s neck, holding onto him tight.

“Well, good,” Rodimus mumbles, “because you’re not losing me anytime soon.”

Thunderclash wraps his arms firmly around Rodimus and sighs, looking as though he could hardly believe what was happening.

Optimus looks on with dim optics until Starscream nudges him and flicks his head to the doorway where several confused officers stand. The sight of them makes Optimus jump slightly then he approaches them along with Starscream and has the door close behind them.

Before he can speak Windblade is already on him, her curiosity bubbling over, “Did Rodimus really save Thunderclash with a spark merge?”

“Yes-”

“This couldn’t have been sanctioned by you,” Minimus interjects.

“It wasn’t-”

“What’s going to happen now?” Bumblebee presses.

“Listen!” Optimus projects his voice firmly amidst the chaos and silences his concerned officers, “Rodimus did indeed stabilize Thunderclash’s spark with his own without permission an issue that will be addressed in full tomorrow after some much needed recharge. For now, I would like to get some of that recharge myself. Any and all other questions and concerns can be discussed tomorrow as well. Dismissed.”

With mumbles and quiet conversations, the officers depart from the medbay, including Starscream who gives him a slight wave before sauntering away. Optimus slumps against the wall with one hand pressed firmly over his optics once he’s alone and vents deeply and evenly. After steadying himself, he stands up straight and begins to make his way out of the medbay. As he walks down the hall, something out of the corner of his optic makes him stop and look. His optics take in another one of the private rooms that has the same layout and equipment as all the others making it completely unremarkable except for the patient lying in the berth. Megatron rests peacefully with the gentle glow of the monitors delicately illuminating his face, making him appear absolutely serene. Optimus finds himself drawn in, his movements no longer his own and before he realizes it, he’s at the side of Megatron. An ache suddenly overcomes him as he scans the healing wounds that had been carved into Megatron’s chest. Then, unbearable fury at Overlord rises within him and he leans protectively over Megatron, balancing on one hand as though that was enough to prevent him from coming to further harm.

Gently, as the fury turns back into that ache, he brings his free hand to cup Megatron’s face and brushes his thumb over his cheek in a caress. He leans in, a terrible realization coming over him.

“I love you,” he whispers over to Megatron and leans in to press a soft kiss to his other cheek and gasps, his optics flickering with untold emotion.

“As you have chosen me, I have chosen you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for the slight delay. I got sick and so I haven't been up for doing anything but now I'm well enough to write again so yay! Hope you all have a wonderful week and you avoid sickness because that shit sucks. I always love seeing your guys' comments, they really make my day and I reread them over and over. I know I'm not good at responding to them. I'm sorry about that but like I just don't know what to say. All the things you guys say make my heart feel full and I'm really glad you like my story and that I get to share this with you. This story was buzzing in my head forever before I started writing so I'm really glad it's doing well. I cannot stress enough that I really do read all your comments like a billion times over and maybe even sneak a few things into the story that you guys mention. Like Thunderclash reciting a poem to Rodimus. I remember DIldo Swaggins T Baggins mentioned that and I thought it was fun so I threw it in. And holy heck UnknownXeno you've been here the whole way. Thank you for all the lovely things you send my way and I hope to express my absolute undying appreciation for every comment you send me. Oh dear, this sounds like a goodbye huh? It isn't! This is definitely getting finished! I just wanted to let you all know I love every last one of you as we near the end. You're the best! Talk to you again soon!


	22. Of Ties and Common Sorrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is as normal as it has been for the Retrimechs with Thunderclash's miraculous recovery and Megatron still in stasis, everyone copes in their own way.

Thunderclash wakes up groggily with a faint pressure pressed against his lips and as he becomes more aware, more awake his optics settle on Rodimus who’s kissing him rather sweetly. He sighs into the kiss, still hesitant to believe that this is all really real but whether a dream or reality, he’s going to take every moment he can. Wrapping an arm around Rodimus, he holds him close as he sits up and settles Rodimus in his lap only to gasp as a wave of almost overwhelming love and affection overcomes him but not from his own spark, rather, a different one and that’s what cements it. This isn’t a very nice dream, this is real, Rodimus is his Conjunx, his bonded. Thunderclash’s hands roam Rodimus’s frame, taking in every inch to try to memorize every seam, every dent, every groove of his beloved’s armor before pulling him close as he breaks the kiss and nestles his head in Rodimus’s shoulder, breathing him in. He reaches across the bond and shares every one of love and joy he’s feeling in that moment and everything else feels very far away as his feelings are returned in full force. Even though he’s in the medbay just after being put back together, he couldn’t possibly feel more alive than he does in that exact moment. Rodimus pulls back to smile at him, arms hung loosely around Thunderclash’s neck, unwilling to let go of his newly bonded.

“Hey,” Rodimus says groggily.

“Hey,” Thunderclash chuckles and kisses Rodimus’s cheek, “I could get used to waking up like that.”

“Ha, it’d be hard to stop me,” Rodimus laughs lightly and snuggles into Thunderclash’s chest, “I’m always gonna be by your side from now on.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Thunderclash sighs and tightens his hold on Rodimus.

The door then opens and someone slams the console to close the door behind them, making both Thunderclash and Rodimus turn to the door and separate slightly to see Windblade. She’s pushed up against the door as if that would hold it close with her optics flicking between them with a panicked look and realizing her feeble position goes back to the console to tweak it to hard lock the door so only the highest level command codes could have a chance of getting through. Thunderclash and Rodimus look at each other, both equally confused by whatever this is, Thunderclash even shrugs making Rodimus sigh and turn back to watch Windblade. Windblade looks back from the console only to quickly avert her gaze from them and begins wringing her hands then seems to steady herself enough to approach them. Rodimus scooches out of Thunderclash’s lap, averting his eyes from Windblade and settles next to him. Thunderclash doesn’t have much time to mourn the comforting weight of his conjunx as WIndblade begins speaking.

“So, don’t panic,” she begins with a tight smile, holding up her hands as if to pacify them.

Rodimus makes a soft scowl and glances briefly to Thunderclash before arching a brow at Windblade, “Okay, not the best way to start but, please, go on.”

Windblade sighs as her shoulders sag and she looks apologetically at Rodimus, “It’s my people.”

“The Camiens?” Thunderclash perks up, a bit more worried now, “Did something happen.”

“You could say that,” she chuckles humorlessly while rubbing her arm.

“What is it? Please,” Rodimus holds out his hand, asking for something, anything.

“Remember that conversation we had? About you being the Prince of Solus?” Windblade takes Rodimus’s hand.

Thunderclash looks between Rodimus and Windblade to settle on Windblade, “Want to fill me in?”

“I’m apparently the fated prince of a new glorious empire that’ll be great or whatever and it’s all because I’m chosen by Solus or Primus or both or something,” Rodimus shrugs, “You know, no big deal.”

Thunderclash makes a cut off noise in an attempt to say something but comes up blank and frowns in confusion with a tilt of his head.

“And what you did last night only cemented that in the minds of the Camiens,” Windblade pats his hand and walks back to the door to listen for anyone coming.

“You mean save Thunderclash’s life?” Rodimus huffs vehemently.

“Yes,” Windblade nods and folds her hands in front of her after pushing off the door, “With the nature of your sparking, how you were able to survive having a torrent of molten metal poured atop you with superficial damage at best, and now bringing someone back from the brink of death with your very spark…”

As she trails off she looks back up, her brow tight and her optics forlorn, letting the weight of hers words land on them.

“It seems your divinity is undeniable,” Thunderclash smiles at Rodimus who just buries his face into his chest.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Rodimus mumbles, “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“I know,” Windblade whispers.

Thunderclash adjusts himself to better accommodate Rodimus as he looks down at him with yet more wonder because it’s all true. Rodimus is a truly miraculous mech who has done things that no ordinary mech could ever hope to do and now he’s even brought him back, a feat he would never ask of him. All the same, he has to protect his conjunx, his conjunx who has had to face so much already and the war still isn’t over. Making a decision, Thunderclash gets up while scooping up Rodimus who mumbles his confusion as he’s picked up and stills as Thunderclash lifts him so he’s looking down at Thunderclash.

“Then I suppose you’re the prince that was promised,” Thunderclash declares and pulls Rodimus down into another kiss.

After breaking the kiss, he makes his way out of the room and down through the halls of the medbay, passing by patients and medics alike that briefly make note of them before going back to whatever it was they were doing. Windblade follows them closely on their tail, moving double time just to keep up with Thunderclash’s long strides.

“Wait,” Rodimus clings to Thunderclash’s neck to keep himself steady, “What are you doing? I can’t face them. I can’t-”

“You can,” Thunderclash assures him, holding him tighter.

“What do you think will come of this?” Windblade’s words are broken up as her attention is drawn by avoiding various obstacles, “I don’t think you realize the potential hindrances that can come from this. There could be beat back against the validity of the lords’ authority, they could demand Rodimus be put in charge of them alone, they could demand my disposition as political head of Caminus. All of which could cause tension within our forces and divide them into factions.”

“It’ll be okay,” Thunderclash smiles again at Rodimus who’s staring at him with wide optics, “It’s Rodimus.”

Rodimus stares at him, his expression unreadable and he moves to get Thunderclash to stop who does so and let’s Rodimus get down from his hold. He then takes Thunderclash by the hand and leads them from the medbay to come face to face with a large crowd of mechs who, surprisingly aren’t all Camiens with a few Cybertronians both former Autobots as well as former Decepticons. Apparently the medics had done their job in keeping them all from disturbing the patients but they couldn’t succeed in stopping them all from lurking just outside the doors to wait for -presumably- one primeling that had performed what many would agree as being a miracle. Optics, too many optics land on Rodimus and Thunderclash who’s still on his hand, silently waiting for what the young mech has to say. Rodimus looks up at Thunderclash who nods and he clears his intake to address the crowd.

“I’m sure you all have a lot of questions,” Rodimus begins and holds up his hand as a torrent of voices begin to bombard him quickly quieting them down, “I know you all have heard rumors, or prophecies, or hopes of what I might become and that those all might sound rather nice. Maybe it will happen. Maybe not.”

Voies begin to object at that suddenly, assuring the primeling of their faith in him and he has to quiet them again before he can continue.

“I know, I know,” Rodimus conjoles and vents deeply, “All I’m saying is that the future, no matter what prophecies there might be, will always be uncertain. We won’t know what will happen for sure until it happens. That being said, if the day ever comes, yes, I will be the prince you hope I’ll be but, until then, I’m still Rodimus of Nyon, Amare of Lord Optimus Prime…”

Rodimus goes quiet for a moment and looks down at his feet. A soft murmur scatters through the crowd as his expression becomes tense and his hold on Thunderclash’s hand tightens.

“Rodimus?” Thunderclash whispers down to Rodimus.

Rodimus looks back up, confidence restored and says, “Rodimus of Nyon, Amare of Lord Optimus Prime and Lord Megatron. Until the day comes for me to lead the fated empire, I will remain in my current position under the authority of the lords, loyal to the Retrimech cause.”

His words are followed by a heavy silence but Rodimus keeps his head up proudly in defiance as the crowd shuffles about. Some look like they’re about to argue but their colleagues stop them, some shake their heads. Rodimus sighs in relief as they begin to file away quietly with faint whispers, emptying the hall. However, when just a small group remains, a few pause to look at each other then to Rodimus.

One of the mechs steps away slightly towards Rodimus and bows slightly, “As you wish, Your Highness.”

Rodimus stiffens as the others present follow suit before going about their way.

“Well,” Windblade pats Rodimus on the shoulder, shrugging, “That’s about as well as it was going to go.”

“Please tell me there’s a way I don’t actually have to be the Prince of Solus,” Rodimus turns to her, the energy he had before draining from him.

“As things are going you are going to become a prince of some kind with how…” Windblade gestures vaguely.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

“I guess…” they turn to Thunderclash who looks tense, “You’re making it official? The unspoken ‘Megatron is your Curae thing’?”

Rodimus mutters something so it’s inaudible and walks away down the hall. Thunderclash watches him go for a moment then looks between him and Windblade quickly, uncertain. Windblade shakes her head with a smile and motions for him to go. He gives a nod of thanks before chasing after his conjunx and wow, isn't that still a wild thing to think about.

Brainstorm looks across from him at Wheeljack who’s happily working away on some new project of his, paying no mind to what’s happening around him then to Perceptor who’s just next to him, reading a datapad calmly then looks off into space, feeling like the only one who realizes there’s anything off about their current situation. Acting like he thinks everything is fine, he continues working on his current project but as he goes on he finds he can’t focus as well, formulas and chemical components all getting muddled in his head. He grumbles in frustration and puts his head in his hands, giving up on being able to accomplish anything. It’s not his fault, it really isn’t and what’s all the more frustrating is that he knows this but it doesn’t help. None of this helps. Brainstorm looks up yet again and sighs.

Turning he says, “So, Shockwave... bit unusual to see you here.”

Shockwave puts down his datapad and looks at Brainstorm, “Is it?”

“Well,” Brainstorm pushes aside what he’s working on now completely giving up on it, “You tend to work in your office or maybe another lab? I just know you don’t exactly…”

Shockwave stares blankly at him, waiting for him to continue as Brainstorm idly taps the desk with his hand.

“Right,” Brainstorm clears his intake roughly and smooths his hands over the table.

By this point Wheeljack has taken some interest in what’s going on and has put his tools aside. Leaning against the table he just seems to be interested in watching whatever this is going down go down. Brainstorm bobs his head at Shockwave while eyeing Wheeljack imploringly but Wheeljack just shrugs, grinning broadly under his mask. Sighing, Brainstorm looks back at Shockwave who’s staring at Wheeljack now and gathers himself.

“You haven’t really been interested in working with us,” Brainstorm catches Shockwave’s attention again, “Why the change?”

Shockwave stays eerily still and silent for almost too long then says, “I find it that I am more… My assistance isn’t currently needed in logistics right now.”

“What?” Wheeljack coughs out a harsh laugh, “But you’re half of logistics command with the other half being Prowl.”

Shockwave turns tightly to Wheeljack and nods, “Correct.”

Brainstorm watches Shockwave as he thinks over his words, feeling that the situation was all too familiar in some way almost like when he and Perceptor…

“You’re fighting!” Brainstorm shouts, pointing an accusing finger at Shockwave and effectively startling the mech, “I can’t believe it! You and Prowl are fighting!”

“It is not-” Shockwave puts up his hand defensively as he’s cut off.

“What are you fighting about?” Wheeljack jumps in.

Perceptor puts down his datapad and levels a tired look at all of them, “Leave the poor mech alone you two.”

 

“Yes, it is nothing-” Shockwave tries again but Perceptor continues.

“It’s a very delicate matter and neither of you two gossips have any right to such private information.”

“Aw, come on, Percy,” Wheeljack says, “Don’t tell me you’re not a little curious.”

“Enough,” Shockwave says sharply, quieting his colleagues and does his best impression of a glower at all of them, “If it will get all of you to stop fussing over nothing then I will tell you it is because I apparently made Prowl uncomfortable so I am giving him distance but, I repeat, we are not fighting.”

They all blink openly at him for a moment, the silence flows over them like a cold breeze. Wheeljack lets out a low whistle which only succeeds in ramping up Shockwave’s apparent ire. Perceptor shakes his head, catching Shockwave’s confused glare but he only shrugs.

Brainstorm pipes up, “How’d you make him uncomfortable?”

Shockwave snaps to him, “I just…” he begins harshly but cuts himself off to look helplessly at the table and hangs his head and says in a calmer tone, “I have, according to Prowl, become too… attached.”

“You… You’ve become too attached?”

“Correct.”

Perceptor comes to stand next to Brainstorms and crosses his arms, “When did this happen?”

“This morning,” Shockwave admits tightly, “He would not even permit me into his office.”

They all share a look that makes Shockwave stiffen.

“Well,” Perceptor goes back to his datapad, “I suppose it can’t be helped.”

“What? But-” Brainstorm tries but Perceptor silences him with a look. His shoulders slump and he gets back to work, curiosity now sated.

They all get back to work, Brainstorm noticeably more glum than before and Shockwave only seems to be able to stare blankly at his datapad, his processor elsewhere. Wheeljack fiddles with the wiring of the blaster he’s repairing, imagining how the conversation between Shockwave and Prowl must have gone and cringes. He can just picture how flat their words must have laid, how professional about the whole mess they would have been, the way Shockwave would have simply tidied his things and left Prowl to mull over everything unsaid. He’s always thought that Prowl’s biggest problem is that he never lets himself really say anything, at least, anything that he should be really saying. A faint ding from his right breaks him from his grim thoughts and he blindly picks up his own datapad to read the message with half seeing eyes, more interested in getting back to what he was doing but he has to stop himself from putting the datapad to reread the message. It’s just a one word message from Perceptor, just one word but it means so much more.

“Starscream.”

Arcee and Minimus sit next to one another, perched atop a cement divider in the Commons, sipping spiked energon as they watch Deadlock and Starscream shout at each other from the otherside of the window that leads to an office. They can’t hear whatever it is the two are shouting about but the wide gestures of the two are quite dramatic and they both seem furious. Minimus moves another piece on the chessboard between them and Arcee hums in frustration and contemplates her next move, twirling the piece in her hand, her black queen. Watching the chaos continue, Minimus waits patiently for her to decide, occasionally sipping more at his energon as the seconds tick by. Arcee puts her piece down firmly and gestures for Minimus to continue and as he looks lazily back at the board he harrumphs once he’s seen what she’s done and resolutely sets his energon down to the side, scowling at the board. Arcee leans back and smirks over her energon as Minimus muses over his next move then looks back over to the scuffle that has quieted down to the two of them just snapping at each other.

“What do you think they’re fighting about?” Arcee asks off handedly.

“Battle plans, what else?” Minimus responds, tapping on the divider in an off-rhythm.

“Rather energetic for battle plans,” Arcee sighs, “Well, I suppose Deadlock does prefer to be in the thick of it and the little stunt he pulled with Rodimus and Thunderclash must mean he’s in a bit of trouble.”

“Mm, not with Starscream,” Minimus hovers his hand over the board for a moment before pulling back with a click of his glossa, considering his move further.

“Oh?”

“He was there. I can only reason he let what transpired actually, well, transpire.”

“I see…” Arcee drawls as she squints at Starscream who’s currently just letting Deadlock bombard him with a barrage of complaints.

Minimus taps his lips and wonders aloud, “It’s all strange isn’t it?”

“Hm?” Arcee looks back at Minimus.

“How all of this is so commonplace,” Minimus waves his hand over the whole of the Commons, “A few months ago, instead of simply wondering what it could possibly be that Starscream and Deadlock are bickering about now we would have our aim trained upon them, ready to destroy key parts of Decepticon command.”

Arcee looks back over at the mechs who are now talking if seethingly so and frowns, “To kill… Deadlock? He’s so young… Rodimus’s age and his clustermate.”

“Indeed,” Minimus looks up solemnly at Arcee, “How the context of it all has changed. So much has happened and so much has yet to come.”

“Yeah,” Arcee vents, a little awed, “First we actually joined with the Decepticons which was a surprise and then came along the DJD and the beginning of the threat of Overlord. Then the Camiens showed up and joined us while all the while the Decepticons and Autobots were mixing with each other and, well, mixing with each other then we all became unified as the Retrimechs…”

“Optimus and Megatron have been having their difficulties but what else do you expect from a bonded pair such as they?” Minimus sighs and finally sets his rook onto another spot, “Rodimus has caused his own fair share of all this trouble with more yet to come.”

“Do you think he’s really this ‘Prince of Solus’ or whatever they’re all claiming?” Arcee says as she takes Minimus’s bishop.

“Whatever they are saying about him -that was terribly sneaky of you by the way- he has certainly always been rather extraordinary. Whether or not he truly is fated to lead a miraculous empire is of little importance, no matter what he does I have every little bit of faith that so long as he puts all of himself into it he will do very well,” Minimus ends by confidently setting his knight on a new place on the board.

Arcee smiles softly down at him, “That’s quite the thing to hear coming from you of all mechs.”

“I, well,” Minimus flubs, all flustered, “I’ve helped look after him for as long as he’s been in Optimus’s care. Forgive me if I’m a bit sentimental.”

“Mm, no harm done,” Arcee moves her own bishop to put Minimus in check, “I just think it’s sweet. I don’t think he realizes how big his family really is.”

“Family?” he mumbles as he stares at the board.

“It’s the human term, yes,” she muses, “but I think it describes it perfectly. Whatever our culture has shaped us to be, it has not removed the close connections we build and it certainly doesn’t destroy the love we feel for one another.”

“No, it certainly doesn’t,” he nods with a sweet smile as he makes his move, “The scars of our past bare very little on the reality of the now and our future.”

“Agreed,” she takes one look back at Starscream and Deadlock who now seem to have reconciled seeing as how they’re hugging, “and I think that’s a very bright future indeed… Checkmate by the way.”

“What?!”

Optimus looks over the map in front of him and checks his plans for what must be the hundredth time, tweaking the positions of battalions and reworking the trajectory of squadrons, still not satisfied with a sinking suspicion he never would be no matter how long he spends working on it. His thoughts drift back to Megatron, still unconscious on the medical berth and unlikely to recover anytime soon, at least not soon enough to help him plan, to fight, to weather the oncoming strife still before them. He leans against the table and hangs down his head, feeling fatigue and exertion weigh heavily upon his frame, taking a moment to let himself feel, to take it in before he has to face the music. Just one more battle, just one more fight, just one more shot of a pistol and it’ll all be over. The same mantra that’s kept him going through his war with Megatron resurfaces and for the first time in all these years it does well and truly feel like the last battle he may have to face and then they would all be free and oh, how wonderful that will be. They can repair the damage, they can heal the wounds and then they can go back to Cybertron and then they can rebuild their home, they can rebuild together. He just needs to lead them through this, that’s it and then it’s all over. He just needs to lead them to victory. He just needs to stand tall for them one more time, confident and bold. He’s leading them alone.

“You look like slag,” Strika notes while smacking Optimus roughly on the back, almost knocking him face-first onto the table.

“Thank you, Strika,” Optimus carefully pushes himself off the table and straightens himself out, “Do you need something?”

“No, not me,” she waves her hands to dismiss the issue with a low, imperious laugh.

“Then, if you don’t need anything I’d like to get back to work,” Optimus says as he looks back at the map.

“Bah, you’ve been working on that damn battle plan for more than twenty hours straight,” she scolds, mounting her hands on her hips, “you can stand to take a break. Your plan is probably about as good as it’s going to get anyhow. You shouldn’t beat yourself up like this just because the love of your life is in the Medbay.”

“Strika!” Optimus exclaims, unsure of how he really wants to respond.

“There are other matters of the heart to attend to anyhow,” Strika waves him off and grabs him by the arm and all but drags him quickly from the room, “Come, it’s time to deal with yet more of the nonsensical drama afloat in a fair camp!”

“Strika! What even are you saying?” Optimus yelps as he’s pulled bodily from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been gone for so long... I was off getting certified as a California Naturalist and then I was recovering from getting my wisdom teeth removed which *hurts* and it didn't help that this chapter fought me the whole way but yeah. The end is nigh and we're almost there. I hope you all have a wonderful week! Love you all!


	23. Requiem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final showdown

“This is what you called me out here for?” Optimus glares into the open space between Shockwave and Prowl who are both sitting at the table in front of him.

Strika shuffles for a moment then says, “It’s bad for moral-”

“We don’t have time for this,” Optimus shakes his head and begins to head out, “They’re professionals, Strika. They can handle a bit of a disagreement.”

“I agree,” Prowl stands up stiffly before pushing in his chair and heading for the exit.

“That’s not-” Strika tries to argue but is stopped by a hand on her arm.

“That is enough, Strika,” Shockwave keeps her from chasing after them, “Now is not the time.”

Then he too begins to make his exit. She lets him go reluctantly, sighing at the now empty shares, her confidence now waning. Shockwave stops at the door, his one good hand resting on the metallic frame and turns his head to look at her.

“Thank you,” he says before continuing out, “For trying.”

She watches him go and lingers in the room.

“Megatron,” she whispers, “Wake up already you bastard, we need you.”

Minimus could practically feel Optimus’ mood rolling off of him in waves as he went over his meticulous battle plan and it didn’t seem he was alone in his observations as everyone else, all of the commanding officers, stands stock still. Any other time he might have blamed it on the seriousness of their situation, the all-or-nothing fight ahead of them, or the fact they were going up against Overlord again but not now. Megatron’s still unconscious with no sign of a quick recovery, leaving everything in Optimus’ hands, not just the battle plans but facing Overlord himself. It had been decided that he would take the Decepticon usurper head on with little to no aid, forcing him into a confrontation that would lead him away from the rest of the fight. At least, that was the hope. There was no telling if Optimus would be able to hold out against Overlord, especially in his current state. Minimus wanted to argue but in seeing everyone else’s efforts turn out to be futile, he decided to, instead, make sure that he would live through this. He knows exactly what this is for Optimus even though he may not even see it for himself. Minimus watches him, face masked as it always had been. Every movement, every word was automatic, a learned response to his duties and the expectations of those around him. There was no joy there, simply anger and fear.

It didn’t help that the scouts had reported that they expected Overlord’s oncoming forces in less than two hours now. That’s another thing. The entirety of the base has been practically on high alert ever since their last encounter, meaning the scouts had been in increased rotations, drones had been kept on wider routes in greater frequency, and recharge was difficult for everyone. They couldn’t be in worse condition to begin another fight. Minimus lets out yet another suffering sigh as he follows Optimus to the hangar. His eyes linger on the taller mech and watches his optics remain solidly forward, undeterred by the surrounding troops that look at him nervously. There was no Optimus the leader here, simply Optimus the soldier, the general of a four million war that has yet to see its true end.

They march up the docking bay into the ship and Optimus begins the preparation sequence with Minimus standing resolutely aside, observing him.

“You need to stop doing this to yourself,” Minimus says, unmoving.

“Doing what?” Optimus mutters as he moves his hands over the controls.

Minimus surveys the ship as Optimus continues his meticulous checks of the ship’s weapons, shielding, and navigation systems. The ship is as it always has been, cold and molded steel, its inner workings a patchwork of different types of tech after being repaired after countless battles. Tech from organic and synthetic life alike make up the place like a display of the advances of all the galaxies they’ve been to, each carrying memories with them, some good, some bad, all of it building something like a home. The ship has acted as a kind of away office for Optimus that Minimus has given his reports in more times than he can count. It’s his office and his throne room, the place he gives commands in battle or as they traveled the universe, without a base, without a home. Now, there is no warmth here, just cold familiarity.

“You need to stop blaming yourself,” Minimus whispers, looking over a panel, its lights blinking softly at him.

Optimus audibly stops what he’s doing and responds, “Now is not the time.”

“So people keep saying,” Minimus bites, his optics piercing the half light of the ship, “I am not one for emotional acuity, emotional depth…”

“So why-”

“So it should be telling,” Minimus snaps, cutting off Optimus before he can accuse him, plunge himself further into guilt, “It should be telling when even I am telling you that you need to slow down, that you need to give yourself a break.”

Optimus’ shoulders slump and he moves to lean back against the control panel and something sharp makes its way into Minimus’ spark to see the Prime like this, more tired than he has ever looked before. His cold exterior has melted away completely, leaving Optimus as he is, as he feels.

“I can’t stop myself from it,” he confesses, “I can’t stop looking at everyone and everything and seeing all that I have ever done wrong. This is my fault.”

Minimus steps up and places a hand over Optimus’, “You are responsible for us but that does not mean you are responsible for everything that goes wrong. For what decisions you’ve that have ended in…”

“Disaster,” Optimus supplements for him.

“That have ended poorly are because of factors you could never predict,” Minimus continues on, ignoring his comment, “You are not omniscient nor are you omnipotent no matter what some may believe. You know I’ve always been skeptical about the blessings of Primus but blessings or no, you are an incredible leader and I have every bit of faith that, in this, you will succeed.”

Optimus looks away, optics dull as his frame remains lax, “I forgot him.”

Minimus straightens up, not expecting the confession. He had prepared for what he had suspected to be what Optimus was dwelling but it just wasn’t… that.

“Right,” Minimus coughs out, “Megatron.”

“Thank you for your kind words, Minimus,” Optimus spins around slowly to the control panel, “but I must continue with preparations for what is to come. I will speak with you when all is said and done.”

Minimus doesn’t leave right away, watching Optimus as he always has. Then, he looks at his hands and, for the first time in a very long time, feels small. He clenches his hands into fists, straightening back up with a nod.

“See that you do,” Minimus says with a bit of finality and exits the ship only to bump into Rodimus.

“Oh, hey Mins,” Rodimus gives a slight wave and a wavering smile as he walks up the gangway.

“Hello, Rodimus,” Minimus returns the gesture, “May I ask why you’re here?”

“Oh, uh, Optimus asked me to be here,” he shrugs.

Minimus hums then nods, “Very well, I’ll leave you to it. Good luck… with everything.”

“Thanks,” Rodimus gives a tight smile then heads in.

Optimus leans against the captain’s chair as he waits, looking up as Rodimus walks in to stop in front of him, his body language letting Optimus know just how nervous he truly is. He spins the object he retrieved from his subspace in one hand and walks up to Rodimus, taking his hand and setting the object carefully on it. Rodimus looks down at it curiously and his optics flash in recognition.

“What do you think of it?” Optimus asks tentatively.

Rodimus flips it over a few times and smiles, softly but genuinely, “I like it. Why is it pink though? Isn’t that a little morbid?”

“It’s the color of energon, the lifeblood of all transformers, it is what connects us,” Optimus offers, gesturing to the badge in Rodimus’ hands.

“Nice,” Rodimus holds it up for a better look.

The features are simple just like the ones for the Autobots and Decepticons were but this one has an evident face mask and a helm with a chevron. The face suddenly becomes recognizable to Rodimus.

“Solus Prime,” Rodimus whispers.

“It is,” Optimus nods while taking the badge gently from Rodimus’s grip and places it at the center of Rodimus’ chest where his Autobot badge once lay, “There is something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.”

“Oh?” Rodimus turns tense as he pretends to continue admiring the badge, fiddling with it senselessly.

“When this is all over…” Optimus starts, stopping to shutter his optics and vent deeply, “I know you and Deadlock are very close which is good. I’m glad you’ve found solace in one another. So, I hope it’s good news to hear that I intend on making that a permanent arrangement.”

Rodimus perks up at that and nods vigorously.

“So,” Optimus clears his intake awkwardly, “How do you really feel about Megatron being your Curae?”

Rodimus stills and takes a moment, “Ah, yeah, I guess that’s a part of the package.”

“But are you really okay with it?” Optimus puts his hands on Rodimus’ shoulders, optics pleading.

Rodimus frowns and gives Optimus a hard look, “You better not be trying to use me as an excuse to back out of this.”

“What?” Optimus jumps in shock, his dower demeanor overcome by the suddenness of Rodimus’ statement, “No! I just want you to know you don’t have to force yourself to get close to him. I love him but…”

Rodimus looked up at him with wide optics then smirks albeit sweetly up at him, “Tell me about him? What you remember if anything? What it was like before the war.”

Optimus blinks down at him in surprise then huffs light laugh, actually smiling now.

“Of course,” he says in a soft voice full of untold emotion, “He was, well, a bit of a romantic…”

Optimus tells him of yet another memory that had come to him, his first meeting with Megatron. It had been by chance, on the streets of Tarn during the festival of Mortilus. He hadn’t been watching where he’d been going and had ran into Megatron, making them tumble into the street. Mortified, he immediately started apologizing and started to help Megatron up only for them to fall over again to Optimus’ great embarrassment. Instead of getting angry, Megatron had simply laughed and helped Optimus to his pedes then introduced himself, asking for Optimus’ own designation and what his plans for the festival were. Finding that Optimus had no plan other than to let the day lead him to whatever he might find, Megatron whisked him away by the hand to the busier parts of the festival where there were games and dancing. They spent the day together, laughing and talking until the sun set on the horizon and night came and with it, fireworks that lit up the sky with brilliant color and light. He remembers Megatron’s smile then, watching the fireworks and how he found him to be the most handsome mech he’d ever seen. Nervous and giddy, without knowing how else to tell him, Optimus had simply left a datapad with his comm frequency and a reference to his favorite poem then spirited away into the night.

“Seriously? That’s way too cheesy for you,” Rodimus teases despite looking embarrassed himself.

“I was a different mech then,” Optimus shrugs, his optics fixed to the distance in thought, “A lot… A lot has changed since then.”

Rodimus puts a hand over the badge Optimus just gave him and rubs it subconsciously in thought.

“But it’s not gone,” Rodimus whispers and Optimus looks at him.

“No, I suppose not,” Optimus says, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Optimus?” Prowl’s voice comes over his comm.

“Yes?”

“It’s time.”

Optimus takes off his mask and leans over to press a kiss to Rodimus’ forehelm before replacing it. Rodimus nods, knowing full well what’s to come and leaves Optimus alone in his ship.

Gliding over the desert sands, Optimus looks over to the horizon through as he mans his ship, half-listening to the chatter over the comms as he watches the oncoming forces speed towards them. His spark pulses rapidly in anticipation as the weapons systems of the enemy ships begin to glow, coming to life in the dull light of the setting sun. His hands tighten on the controls as balls of light fly through the sky in a trading of blows, waiting for the impact. Red flares sail through the air directly towards him and all is silent as the world seems to slow down, then they impact, shaking the ship and him along with it as the comms crackle to life with a cacophony of voices. He steers his ship through the torrent of laserfire, ignoring impact warnings and low-level system failures, blind and deaf to it all as he searches for his target. Around him, squadrons fly around each other, bursting forth from booming explosions as the shred apart enemy ships in a fierce display, leaving them in ruins of warped metal and fire. They don’t deter him in his pursuit, near mindless in his resolve as he maneuvers through friend and foe alike until one phrase in the storm of orders and reports catches his attention like the eye of a hurricane.

“Overlord incoming, full pursuit, forward left front-”

He doesn’t know who the voice belongs to but he doesn’t care, gunning his engine to spearhead through the chaos to where the report had detailed and, as promised, there’s Overlord’s personal fighter. His ship is a weapon of war meant to terrify the enemy and mystify the ally, a matte black beast of sharp edges armed to the teeth with laser-cannons, missiles, and solid ammunition guns. It all matters very little as Optimus goes head to head with the thing, taking out weapons with precision from his practice of millenia. The problem Overlord has that Optimus more than happily exploits, is that he is a physical fighter used to tearing his victims apart on the ground, so he has very little use for the sky. He’s gunned far to easily down, his ship spiraling out of control to the ground, Optimus following it with the enemy firing at him from behind. Overlord crashes to the ground, his fighter bursting apart in a glittery explosion, a fireball erupting from the carnage. The squadron on Optimus’s tail is taken over by seekers as he makes it to the ground, disembarking quickly just in time to witness Overlord tear his way through the remains of his ship. Surrounded by fire and scorched metal, smoke billowing around his frame, he looks like a demon out of human folklore complete with burning red eyes, terrible and unconquerable. He is not without injury, though, a jagged hole has been torn into his right shoulder, his left side has been badly burned and partially melted from the heat of the explosion, and a good sized dent weakens his right leg. All of this does not slow him down, in fact, he charges forth as soon as he lays eyes on Optimus.

Optimus comes up to meet him, energy axe at the ready and with practiced ease, swings it smoothly down onto Overlord’s weakened shoulder, making him roar in pain and swing to grab Optimus. The Prime is too fast for him, moving away smoothly to strike his side once, twice, trading his axe between hands then raising his fist to land under Overlord’s jaw, making him choke on his cries of fury. He is silent, not even thinking to spare a moment to so much as think about mercy as he punches again, this time into Overlord’s side, caving it in. Slicing into energon lines and support struts, the lord is merciless, his spark roaring in his chest, demanding retribution and all at once he knows all too clearly what this is: vengeance. With another blow with his axe to Overlord’s weakened leg, the behemoth falls to sands, energon spilling from his weakened form as sparks erupt from severed cables. Lord Optimus Prime, feeling nothing of fatigue or injury, marches to his limp form and raises his axe once more to free Overlord’s helm from his body. Bringing it down, his aim is true until a hand comes up and stops it.

Overlord chokes on energon as the blade of the energy axe digs into the delicate mechanisms of his hand, letting more energon to flow freely. Optimus frees his axe from Overlord’s grip to bring it down again only for a fist to pummel and dent his chassis, knocking him away in a daze. Rising from the sands too quick to follow, Overlord comes at him with teeth bared and optics ablaze, striking Optimus’s helm and injured chassis. The Prime brings up his axe barely in time to block the next blow that still manages to send him reeling back, skidding through sand. A roar rips from Overlord’s intake and he’s atop Optimus again, merciless in his barrage of punches, not allowing Optimus another opening. All he can manage in the face of Overlord’s assault is dodge and block. As he moves, pushed back with each hit, he skids in the loose sand and falls to his knees and Overlord -more than eager to take advantage of the opportunity- all but pounces onto Optimus, knocking him fully into the sand. Overlord, with oral lubricant mingled with energon dripping from his mouth, laughs with a crazed look in his optics over the small victory. It’s not much, but it’s enough for Optimus to sink his axe into the sensitive joint between hip and chassis then push up, slicing through armor up to Overlord’s chestplate. A cry of pain rips from Overlord’s lips and he scrambles to get back at Optimus as he leaps away.

Feeling his hands begin to shake on the handle of his axe, Optimus knows his own rage will not be enough to carry him through this fight. All the same, he readies himself and waits for Overlord’s charging form.

Ratchet watches what he can of the fight with the drones in the medbay, moving them through the fray rapidly, frantically sliding his digits over the screens to change their positions. His optics flit over the screen, frenzied and focused as he searches the battlefield, muttering curses. Finally, he scans over one portion of the desert to find Optimus in the throws of combat with Overlord and doesn’t like what he’s seeing. Optimus is losing and with how much energon he’s losing from his wounds, albeit manageable, he’s not getting a second wind, not against Overlord at any rate.

“Of course I’m always the last person to find out about these things,” Ratchet rails, storming off into another part of the medbay, “Those idiots know I’d put a stop to it if I found out. Glitches damned to the Pit all of them.”

“What can we do?” Deadlock asks from behind him. The only way Starscream managed to get him to agree to stay in the base was for him to guard Ratchet which wasn’t the most ideal in the medic’s opinion. If he was honest with himself, he just didn’t want to mention that he appreciated the gesture.

“‘We’ are not going to do anything,” Ratchet growls, “Nothing besides get the one person that can do something on his feet.”

“Megatron?” Deadlock shouts in surprise, “But you said he wasn’t ready, wasn’t able.”

“Technically he isn’t,” Ratchet continues on and practically slams the controls to open into the room Megatron is in.

Just as he was before, Megatron lays still, appearing almost lifeless on the medical berth, a site that doesn’t fail to send a shiver down Deadlock’s back. He watches Ratchet move around the room, picking up tools and supplies before going next to Megatron, starting with a syringe filled with something.

“‘Technically’?” Deadlock asks dubiously.

While administering the drugs, Ratchet rattles off, “He’s no use in a normal position that would permit him to heal fully. I’m only doing this because it’s an emergency. What I’m about to do could possibly cause irreparable damage. Something I advise against constantly as a medic but no one cares to listen.”

“What are you going to do to get him on his feet?” Deadlock looks over his Curae nervously.

“Fill him with enough stimulant and pain blockers that he’ll feel like he’s riding on the back of f-20 fighter jet after breaking the sound barrier while having the ability to shoot lasers out of his optics,” Ratchet says as he begins disconnecting some of the equipment.

“You’re putting my Curae on a drug trip to win the war,” Deadlock speaks quietly, staring at Megatron in a half-daze.

Ratchet stalls his movements and looks at Deadlock then looks back down at Megatron and says, “Yeah.”

Starscream is flying from another wreckage when he receives a comm from Deadlock.

“Deadlock, I told you-”

“No, it’s not that,” Deadlock cuts him and sounds urgent enough that Starscream remains quiet, “Ratchet just got Megatron to wake up. We need a way to transport him to Optimus.”

Starscream falters in the air in surprise, “You- Megatron? I thought- Fine! I’ll bring a convoy your way. I’ll be there in less than three minutes.”

“Thank you,” Deadlock vents in relief.

“Yes, yes,” Starscream crones, too exhausted with the situation too care, “I’ll be there soon. Make sure Megatron doesn’t get himself killed before I get there. Starscream, out.”

With that he cuts off the comm and transforms, landing atop an enemy convoy, making it move erratically in the air after undoubtedly startling the pilot. He walks to the back and, gripping the edge, swings down to the door latch to swiftly undo it and slip inside. Guns train onto his form immediately and fire off as he smoothly moves between them. He grabs the wrist of one soldier, moving his aim to his colleague who falls over dead from the shot then rips through neck cables, killing them. Then, he pulls another in front of him to take the shots from the other two for him and drops their corpse to spring forward at the other two. Knocking one unconscious with a swift blow to the head, he fires a shot between the optics of the other with the gun he pilfered from the one he used as a shield then two into the one knocked out on the floor. He tosses their bodies out the back door then casually walks to the cockpit and unloads a shot into the back of the head of the pilot. The ship descends as he pulls the corpse from the pilot’s chair to toss him out as well. After clearing the ship, he takes the controls and pulls the ship out of its descent and back into a steady glide before steering it to the base. He updates the recognition codes as he goes to avoid friendly fire, eventually landing in the airfield.

“I’m here,” Starscream comms over to Deadlock.

He watches Deadlock run over with Megatron and Ratchet in tow and board the ship. Once Ratchet closes the door, he takes off, heading back into the warzone, unphased by the curious looks sent his way over the energon-stained ship.

“When you said convoy-” Deadlock starts but Starscream cuts him off.

“Oh, you’ve always been so picky, even when you were a fledgling you were picky,” Starscream rants as he maneuvers them through fire fights, “I said I would get you a convoy and would you look at this? It’s a convoy.”

He waves over the control panel as he continues to score the battlefield.

“Yes, it is,” Deadlock sighs, “Thank you.”

“Now,” Starscream continues as he shoots down a convoy just like the one their riding in, “Is someone going to tell me where I’m going?”

Megtron leans heavily on the pilot’s chair and points over to one section in the distance where they could faintly see a crashed ship.

“There,” Megatron rumbles, “That’s where he is.”

Then he bursts into deep laugh, tossing his head back with it. Starscream blinks at him then looks over to Deadlock, a silent question in his optics only for Deadlock to shrug.

“Don’t mind him,” Ratchet calls from behind them, “He’s just hopped up on enough stimulant to keep a fatigued battalio going for a day.”

“Ah,” Starscream says with a click of his glossa, “That would explain it.”

Optimus struggles beneath the weight of Overlord as he pushes down on his axe that Optimus holds over him, well and truly pinned to the ground. He kicks futilely up at Overlord to try and gain some ground to move out from under him which only let’s Overlord press the axe down further in his moment of distraction. Gritting his denta, he tries to maintain his hold as he feels it failing, the pressure of it makes his struts creak and pieces of armor push uncomfortably in at awkward angles. Just as soon as he feels like his hold is about to give, the pressure’s gone.

A blur of limbs slams into Overlord, pushing him fully off of Optimus and tumbling into the sand to clumsily regain his footing. Quickly, Optimus returns to his pedes and looks over to see Megatron, optics trained on Overlord with his lips curled in a snarl. A wave of hope overcomes Optimus and he finds the strength to ready himself for whatever Overlord would throw at them next. Megatron’s mace comes forth, ready for the fight as Overlord regains himself to tunnel straight for them. They’re ready for him and without speaking, they move as one. Optimus goes low and Megatron goes high as Overlord comes up on to them, digging their weapons into his armor and knocking him back into the sand. However, he recovers quickly, venting hard and tries to strike Optimus but is knocked away by Megatron’s mace giving Optimus room to cut into Overlord’s leg again, cleaving it fully from the joint and rendering him immobile. Overlord digs his hands into the sand uselessly, trying to get back up or to get away, eventually flipping onto his front to crawl away from them. Megatron strides over to flip him back onto his back and digs his hand into the cleft in his chest to tear the metal away, splitting Overlord’s chest wide open to reveal his spark. Dropping his mace, Megatron uses both hands to widen the opening and reaches in to pull Overlord’s spark out from the housing within. Then, with both hands, he rips the casing in half, ending Overlord’s life in a blaze of white light.

Optimus vents hard as he watches Overlord’s plating begin to gray then turns his optics to Megatron standing above, covered in energon and sand. Megatron, feeling his optics on him, turns back to look at Optimus and walk over to him to stop in front of him. Letting his axe slip from his hand, Optimus puts his hand to Megatron’s face, still not quite believing he was really there. Megatron swiftly undoes the locking mechanism on his face mask and tosses it away into the sands without once looking away from Optimus’s optics. He wraps his arms around Optimus and pulls him to himself, sealing their lips in a kiss as explosions and gunfire rains down around them. Optimus clings to him, closing his optics as he just feels Megatron around him, alive and awake and here, precisely where he needs him. They break just enough to rest their helms together and Optimus laughs despite himself, despite everything.

“I love you,” Optimus gasps, still chuckling with relief.

“I should hope so,” Megatron laughs and kisses him again.

“Uh,” Arcee’s voice comes through the comm, breaking them apart, “I hate to break such a beautiful moment but we still have his army to worry about.”

“Right,” they say together, picking up their respective weapons and march back into the fight side-by-side.

Somehow -Rodimus blames the seekers Overlord got- Rodimus and Thunderclash find themselves surrounded on all sides on the ground with air support delayed for another five minutes at least. So far, they’ve managed, keeping the brutes at bay and even falling some of them with what weapons they had but now they’re running low on ammunition. Rodimus counts it over again as fire flies over their heads as they sit up against the shielding they managed to duck behind in time. Thunderclash sits back up from where he was peeking over to get a look at the enemy. Rodimus nudes Thunderclash to look at him.

“How many would you say are out there?” Rodimus says with a flick of his head.

“Thirty at least,” Thunderclash sighs, “With more to come probably.”

“Thirty?” Rodimus repeats, the gears in his head turning.

“Yes,” Thunderclash nods, frowning in worry at the expression on Rodimus’ face.

Rodimus looks up and seeing Thunderclash’s look, smiles reassuringly before kissing him.

With his hand cupping Thunderclash’s face, he says, “Don’t tell Optimus about this.”

He then quickly hops over the shelter with Thunderclash shouting after him to wait but he ignores it, running through the oncoming fire and directly towards the enemy front. Feeling it come up from his very core, his frame comes alight and flames burst from him as he charges the enemy head-on who begin to falter as they watch him speed towards them. They begin to retreat but it’s too late, he’s reached them and begin falling them, one after one, melting helms and scorching key components. He tears through the enemy, leaving smoldering corpses in his wake, the soldiers screaming in horror and awe. Slowly his flames die down and his venting becomes labored. He falls to one knee, trying to recover just when he feels the ground practically shake. Looking up, he finds a giant of a mech approaching him and he stands up as best he can, his mind overclocking as he tries to figure out how to get of this.

Suddenly, metal and energon bursts out of the large mech’s chest and Rodimus covers his head to protect himself from the debris as the large mech falls lifeless to the ground with a crash. He looks back to see a small form land in front of him a bit unsteadily but they manage to stay up. Covered in energon, Tailgate stands in front of him, chipper as ever.

“Oh, hi, Rodimus,” Tailgate waves.

“Hi, Tailgate,” Rodimus waves back, a little stunned, “Ratchet actually let you out of the medbay?”

Tailgate puts a hand to the back of his head, “Well, not exactly. It’s more that he wasn’t there to keep me in the medbay.”

“Oh,” Rodimus smirks, “I see.”

Thunderclash comes up at that moment and looks between them and the fallen mech.

“Well,” Tailgate puts his hands on his hips, “shall we continue?”

Minimus surveys the battlefield, pleased to see that Overlord’s death had the precise effect they were hoping for. The moral of the enemy has taken a heavy blow and those not in the middle of direct combat were trying to retreat only to be shot down. With a satisfied nod, he turns back to his own skirmish, hefting up the large gun to his hip and blasting into one of the last solid shelters Overlord’s forces managed to erect, letting his fellow troops swarm in.

Prowl found out he hates fighting in deserts a long time ago. Sand and energon always mix together in the worst of ways, clogging joints and getting in every crevice. This instance is no different. The only thing he hates more than fighting in the desert, is getting injured while fighting in the desert. He clutches his side that’s leaking far too much energon for his liking as he continues shooting down those dumb enough to get within his range. His anger spikes as another wave of pain shoots through his systems and he gets reckless, he knows he does but he doesn’t care. That is, he doesn’t care until it lets an enemy come up and blind-side him, knocking him down. When he looks up, a gun is pointed directly at his head and his weapon has been knocked clean from his grasp. A shot fires and he flinches. He opens his optics to find the mech dead on the ground with his head blown clean off. Steps come up from behind him and he looks up at none other than Shockwave offering him his hand. He takes it, letting Shockwave help him off the ground and support him as he limps, leading them back into friendly territory as back up comes to overtake the enemy.

Windblade shoots down another enemy seeker giving her room to survey the area and finds that she likes what she sees. The enemy was falling back at the rear and dwindling on the front. She sends out the call over the comms and watches as her allies rally, fervor fully restored. They were going to win.

Megatron walks over the desert, leaning heavily on Optimus now that the stimulants were finally wearing off, and looks over the smoldering masses of mechs and ships, this time, finally, satisfied. They’d beaten back the enemy and Overlord is dead, so all in all a good day. As they approach the base, their troops spot them and cheers come up to greet them. Former Decepticons and Autobots alike hold each other close, embrace each other as they welcome back their leaders but giving them enough space to get through.

“When I see Ratchet, I’m going to remind him of that oath he’s always mentioning when we decide to do something stupid,” Optimus mutters.

Megatron laughs and bumps his helm against Optimus’, “Don’t be too hard on him. He let me save you.”

“Don’t try to sweet talk him out of this for him,” Optimus rolls his optics but smiles despite himself.

Megatron hums, “Wouldn’t dream of it, Optimus.”

“Sure,” Optimus responds flatly, pulling Megatron closer.

“I love you,” Megatron sighs contentedly, “I love you, especially when you’re angry.”

Optimus laughs and kisses Megatron’s helm, “And I you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *jazz hands*


End file.
